Moonlight and Trouble
by Vinividivinci
Summary: Teresa was furious. Jane had screwed up again and she told him she wanted him to go away. But she didn't mean forever! Now Jane is in trouble and she has to find him and save him.
1. Chapter 1

"I've had _enough_ Jane! Just – just go away!" Lisbon sat with her head bowed over a stack of paper work – paperwork caused by her irritating, maddening, pain-in-the-ass consultant.

He had solved the case, she had to grant him that, but he'd also insulted one of the Governor's biggest campaign supporters in the process. Hightower was fuming, and she, Lisbon, was being punished by having to fill out lengthy reports as well as writing out a number of apology letters.

Of course Jane should have been the one doing the apologizing, but she knew there was no point in even asking him. He would simply grin and refuse – and tell her to forget about it. But that would lose her her job, a job she enjoyed – at least most of the time. But today she was tired, _sick_ and tired of one Patrick Jane.

"You don't mean that Lisbon," he said lightly, standing on the other side of her desk with his damn smile lighting up his handsome face. "How about a cup of tea?"

She slowly lifted her head and regarded him seriously. "I mean it," she said softly. "I am sick and tired of your selfishness, your lack of consideration for anyone, your belief that whatever you do is okay. Well it's _not_ okay. You screwed up Jane – and we're paying the price for it, like usual. So I don't want to see you – and I don't know when I will. I suggest you leave, because I _really_ don't want to be around you right now."

She watched as the smile faded, and his face grew somber. For a moment she caught a glimpse of the real Patrick Jane behind his usual light exterior. It caused her to catch her breath, to _almost_ take back her words, for what she saw was the unutterable pain and suffering in his eyes.

But she stopped herself. Jane _had_ to learn that his obsession, his guilt, his agony wasn't the only thing in this world. He had to learn that others mattered, that his team _mattered._ So she said nothing.

"I'm sorry Lisbon," he said softly. "I'll go." He walked slowly towards the door.

She almost relented, suddenly feeling guilty, and opened her mouth to tell him to say, when he spoke again.

"But he deserved it. He was an idiot."

Her mouth snapped shut and she took a deep breath. So much for guilt! "Just get out of here."

With one last look he nodded, turned and walked out of her office, gently closing the door behind him.

She expected to feel relief, but instead she felt a shaft of sorrow and, strangely, of apprehension. Something told her to stop him, to tell him not to leave. She wanted to grab him, to hug him, to tell him she was sorry for the agony he felt, but then she shook her head, disgusted at herself. The quick glimpse of pain in Jane's eyes had turned her soft and a hug wasn't going to make him suddenly feel better. No, it was best that he got out of here for a while. He needed to think about his actions and she needed to calm down.

She bent her head to her paper work, determined to put Patrick Jane out of her mind.

Jane slowly made his way down to his car, feeling as if the day, which had started out relatively well, had suddenly turned bleak. He'd known he'd gone too far today and deep down he did feel guilty for the trouble he'd caused her.

So why did he do things like go after important people? Because lashing out at others gave him brief, very brief, moments of respite from the gnawing pain that was always with him. It also allowed him to channel his rage at the world, at fate, at _him_ into those he could reach.

But he really hadn't meant to hurt Teresa, or his team, and he knew he had. The best thing was to leave them alone for now and they'd all get over it. There was no way he was going to apologize, or to admit he was wrong. To do so would open up doors he kept securely locked. His life was consumed with guilt over the death of his wife and daughter and there was no room for any more.

He opened his car door and got in, a sudden feeling of loneliness so intense washing over him that he stopped breathing.

He leaned his head on the steering wheel, unable to move or even to think. Since he'd been at the CBI he'd been able to move forward, each day, with purpose and intent. He'd been able to hide from the intense pain and grief by thinking only of the goal he'd set himself. He'd grown used to the pain that was a constant background in his life. But this intense agony – this was something he hadn't allowed himself to feel for months.

He let out a low groan. "Angie," he cried. He missed her so much. He wanted nothing more than to feel her arms around him, to have her hold him, to listen to her voice.

The tears gathered and fell. Charlotte – his baby girl. He wanted to be able to pick her up, to hold her and make her giggle.

And they were both gone and were never coming back. The pain stabbed him in the heart and he quickly sat up, took a deep breath and started his car. He had to get away from how he was feeling.

He drove, but didn't know where and didn't care. All he knew was that he felt alone, so very, very alone.

Teresa worked until the last reports and the last letters of apology were done. She sighed and stretched. God, she really wanted to kill Jane! She wished he had even an inkling of what he'd put her through with his antics.

She stood up slowly and stretched again, only then realizing that it was dark outside. She glanced down at her watch in surprise – it was after 8:00 o'clock. She'd been working for hours and hadn't even realized it. At that moment her stomach growled and she realized she was starving.

It was time to go home, get something to eat and maybe take a hot bath. She needed to relax and forget about the day.

As she collected her jacket, and made her way to the elevator, she wondered briefly whether Jane was in his attic room upstairs. She hesitated to go check on him – she didn't want him to think that she'd forgiven him. Still, she worried about him and had another flash of guilt for getting so angry at him.

With a sigh she turned away from the elevator and headed up the stairs to Jane's hidey-hole.

"Jane," she knocked. "Are you in there?" Of course he was, she thought. Where else would he be? As far as she knew, he didn't have a life outside the CBI. Which brought with it another stab of guilt. " _Jane_ – come on, answer the door."

Silence greeted her and she frowned. Maybe he had gone to get something to eat. After knocking again and waiting a couple of minutes she finally decided he must have gone out and headed back downstairs to the elevator and then to her car.

"Hey Stan," she said to the guard at the gate. "By the way, did you see Jane leave?"

"Mr. Jane?" Stan nodded. "Yeah, he left about 4:00 o'clock, just after I started my shift. He looked kinda rough."

"Rough?" Lisbon frowned. "What do you mean?" If he had left then it had to have been right after she'd spoken to him. God, she hoped he hadn't gotten some kind of bad news after he'd left her office.

"Mmm – he sat in his car for a while. I was just about to go over and check on him – he looked like he was sick or something – but then he drove off. He didn't even say goodbye or anything when he left, which isn't like him. Mr. Jane is always friendly. But this time he looked -" Stan stopped and appeared uncomfortable.

"What?" demanded Lisbon.

"Uh – I don't want to – I mean, I'm sure he was fine."

" _Stan_ – this is important. How did he look?"

Stan grimaced slightly. "Uh, he looked like he'd been crying."

Lisbon frowned. " _Crying_?"

"Yeah. I don't know – maybe I was wrong. Maybe he was just feeling sick or something. I don't want to get him in trouble or anything. He always treats me real good."

"No, no – he's not in trouble," Lisbon said, suddenly worried. "I'm just concerned about him. He's a member of my team – my friend. So he didn't say anything? Didn't indicate where he was going?"

"No, I told you he didn't talk to me. Usually he stops and chats for a minute before he goes."

Lisbon nodded, knowing there was nothing more she was going to get from the security guard. "Thanks Stan. I'm sure it's okay. We just finished an exhausting case so I expect he was just tired."

"Yeah," Stan jumped on that. "I'm sure that's what it was."

"Thanks," Lisbon smiled at the man. "Have a good night."

"You too Agent Lisbon," he smiled and stepped back, clearly relieved to have finished the conversation.

As Lisbon drove off she continued to frown. Where the hell could Jane be and _had_ he been crying?

"No way," she murmured. She had never once seen Jane cry and was sure that Stan must have gotten it wrong. It's not that she didn't think Jane suffered – she knew he did – but he was a master of hiding his emotions. Sometimes she thought he even hid his emotions from himself.

Teresa drove home and pulled into her driveway, but instead of getting out of her car, she sat there for quite a few minutes. Finally she grabbed her cell phone and dialed Patrick's number. So call her paranoid, she needed to check and make sure he was okay.

The call instantly went to voicemail, which either meant his phone was off or he'd run out of battery. "Damn!" Now how was she going to find out if he was okay? She knew there was no way in hell she was going to relax until she talked to him.

She refused to think about what she'd said to him earlier. She'd been angry – justifiably so. So if Jane got all upset it should be at himself. He's the one who continued to pull stupid stunts. _He_ was the one who created headaches for everyone, so why should she feel sorry for him?

Because he was a man who'd gone through hell and who now had few, if any friends and no family – other than his CBI team. And she'd gone and told him she didn't want to see him.

"You are an idiot!" she told herself. With that she backed up out of her driveway, knowing there was no way she was going to sleep that night, until she found Patrick Jane.

At that moment the man in question was turning off of the I-5 onto Lost Hills Rd towards Malibu. It was a route he had taken many times and he barely had to think about it.

His destination was not his house – not this time. For some reason, tonight all he could think about were his wife and daughter, missing them both with a fierce ache that was relentless. Normally he could push it to the background – but not tonight. Tonight all he could see were the faces of his wife and daughter, looking at him with disappointment and regret. It was that, that was driving him here - to a special place – to a place where he hoped he could find some peace.

He and Angela had married young and had spent their early years living in grungy motels and even grungier apartments. They'd travelled all over as he'd eked out a performing his mentalist shows. It could have been an uncomfortable life but instead it had been one of laughter and joy. They hadn't cared about where they lived because they had each other.

And then had come the news that Angela was pregnant. Jane had known it was time to settle down and decided his wife and child deserved some place beautiful. He knew she loved the ocean – so did he – and so he decided on Malibu.

He'd put away a lot of money over the years as they'd lived carefully and frugally. And then, just before he retired from the road, he'd joined a card game with some rich, very rich, playboys. He'd won, which had been his plan, and had walked away with a huge pot of money.

That money had enabled him to buy a gorgeous home and to set up a psychic practice among rich and famous clients.

He and Angela had only been in the house a couple of months when they'd discovered the lookout. It had quickly become _their_ place – the place where they went when they wanted to together, away from the house and his work.

He didn't know if anyone actually owned the land or not. He'd meant to find out, and to purchase it if possible, but he'd never gotten around to it. As it was, no one ever bothered them and, few people ever stopped there.

There was a road – more of a dirt path than an actual road – that wound around for close to five miles. You couldn't see the ocean as you drove at all and at first glance it seemed like a dry, desolate place – that was until you turned the last curve and came out onto a small outcropping of land that had the most magnificent views overlooking the Pacific Ocean.

It was breathtaking and every time he saw it he was awestruck – and Angela had felt the same.

It was _their_ place – and where he needed to be right now. He continued to drive, not noticing the time, although it had been dark for quite a while. He didn't worry about the drive in the dark still knowing the road like the back of his hand. Instead all he thought was he needed to be at that spot. He needed to be with Angela, to _feel_ her presence, to take away the deep well of loneliness that was slowly killing him.

He pulled his car to a stop and stared out at the ocean. The moon was bright, and reflected off the water. With his windows still closed, he couldn't hear any sounds and for a moment felt like he was in another world. He closed his eyes, asking a God he no longer believed in, that Angela would be with him when he opened them again.

Teresa had finally returned home, after driving to every place she thought Jane could have gone. It had been a ridiculous thing to do but for some reason she was worried. It wasn't just what Stan had told her either. She had this strange feeling that Jane needed her.

"Where the hell are you Jane?" she whispered, as she again sat in her driveway. Finally, with a shake of her head she pulled out her cell phone and hit speed dial.

"Cho? Have you seen Jane?"

He slowly got out of the car, suddenly wishing he hadn't come to this place. Rather than taking away his loneliness, his pain, it had made it worse. Standing in this place, now hearing the sounds of the waves crash against the coast, his loneliness grew unbearable. He shouldn't have come! This was _their_ place. He turned slowly – away from the water, away from the view he'd shared so many times with his wife.

"Angela," he cried, his eyes closed, tears running down his cheeks.

At first he didn't hear the sound, but then it grew louder until it was almost upon him. He opened his eyes quickly, to see a car pull up sharply beside his. The next thing he knew, the front doors and the back left door had all opened and three men got out. They were wearing scruffy clothes and all of them sported numerous tattoos. From the amateur nature of some of the tattoos, at least two of the men had spent time in prison. Jane took a deep breath and stood up straight.

"Well, well, well, look what we got here!" the driver said. "I think we found us a tourist! Hey you – are you a tourist?"

"No," he answered softly. "I live here."

"Here?" the man who'd been sitting in the back seat asked, with a deep drawl. Jane figured he must be from Texas. "You live here on this rock? Kinda weird, ain't cha?"

Jane didn't answer, knowing things were not looking good. He suddenly wished he hadn't left his cell phone in the car. "I live near here," he told them. "I'm just waiting for a friend." There – maybe that would keep them from doing something stupid.

"A friend?" the driver again spoke. "I bet you're waiting for a woman. You come here to make out with a woman?"

"Uh – no. It's a man friend."

"You're coming to make out with a man?" the third guy, who had remained quiet and unmoving to this point, spoke. "You into guys?" he sneered.

"It's just a friend. We like to do – uh – astronomy together and this is a good place."

"Ass – stronomy!" Mr. Backseat drawled. "Why ain't you the ejucated one! And you're reeeel purty too. I bet your friend ain't interested in ass – stronomy – he's just interested in _ass_ – your ass."

Jane was more than ever convinced that things had just gotten really bad. He glanced between the three men, and realized that they were all high – and no strangers to crime and violence.

And no one knew where he was. He was in serious trouble. He briefly closed his eyes. "Teresa," he whispered.


	2. Malibu

It was strange how the sense of smell evoked memories more sharply than any of the other senses. He'd known instantly that he was home – or at least in his house in Malibu. He could no longer honestly call it home.

The first moment he's woken up he'd known. The smell – and if he thought about it – the _sound_ of the place, told him where he was. So that was good. It meant he didn't _need_ to open his eyes to check on his location. Because opening his eyes would cause his head to fall off and his stomach to push it's way out of his mouth.

He felt awful. His head felt as if someone were pounding nails into it and his stomach – he had to stop thinking about his stomach or he was going to throw up – which _would_ cause his head to fall off.

So he was in his house. He didn't know why, but it was too hard to think about it so he just let himself be and try not to move.

It wasn't long – unfortunately – before a sense, a niggling sense of _something_ started to bother him. That and the fact that he was lying on a cold, hard surface – not in his bed, made him start to wonder. _Why_ was he in his house and secondly why did he feel so awful.

The reason came to him much quicker than he would have liked. A few more seconds of ignorance would have been kinder, he thought. Instead he wanted to groan. He was in trouble – serious trouble.

The three men who'd pulled up beside him – he'd found out their names were Ed, Charlie and Zack – were in trouble of some kind. What kind of trouble he didn't know, and frankly didn't care. But the problem was that they had been looking for a place to hide out – and then, conveniently, they'd come upon Jane.

He really did have the worst luck.

He'd tried to talk his way out of it – had even tried to hypnotize Ed, the clear leader of the bunch. Neither had worked and the next thing he'd known he'd been pushed up against his car and his wallet had been taken from his back pocket. Zack – or Mr. Backseat – had flipped through it until he found his license with his Malibu address.

"Hey lookie here," Zack had grinned. "He lives in Maaaaalibu. You must be rich huh?" He didn't wait to hear Jane's answer, instead he continued rifling through his wallet.

Much to Jane's dismay he found the picture of Angela and Charlotte – the one he kept hidden in an inside pocket.

"Who's this?" Zack had held up the picture with a smirk on his face. "This your wife and kid?"

When he'd refused to answer he'd received a slap across the face from Zack – who was quickly showing himself to be bat crazy.

"I'll ask again Curly," Zack repeated. "This your wife and kid?"

"Yes," he'd answered, leaving it at that.

"They back at your fancy _Maaaalibu_ house," he's grinned, drawing the word out again.

"No."

"No? Why? Where are they? Maybe she left you for some other guy? Is that it Curly? Your wife off screwing someone else."

Again he didn't answer and the next thing he knew he was on the ground, gasping for air.

"When I ask you a question, you better answer me Curly – you hear me?"

This time he couldn't have answered if he wanted to. There wasn't enough air left in his lungs to make any sound. Fortunately Ed spoke up and stopped things.

"Leave him alone Zack." Which would have cheered him up except for what followed.

"We need him in one piece until we're in his house – then you can do what you want with him."

Charlie – the quiet one, and, Jane hoped, the sane one, then suggested they move it. "We gotta get inside somewhere. The cops will be out lookin' for us all over. And whoever this guy's meetin' with might show up any minute."

Jane was still lying on the ground – hoping that maybe they'd simply forget him and leave him there – when he heard the crunch of rocks as someone walked over to him. A moment later Ed had squatted down and was looking him in the face.

"So, Mr. Jane – how you like being named after a girl?" Ed grinned. Fortunately, he didn't seem to require Jane to answer, as did Zack. "So, are your wife and kid at home?"

For a moment he debated lying. Maybe if they thought there was someone there they'd leave him alone. On second thought they might just kill him- obviously they didn't want anyone telling the cops about them – or they'd decide to go anyway and plan to deal with his wife and child when they got there.

"No," he finally answered.

"No? Where are they?"

Jane briefly closed his eyes. What to say? In the end all he _could_ say was the truth. He couldn't use Angie or Charlotte in any lie. "They're dead," he said softly.

There was a moment's pause and then Ed stood up. "We'll go to Jane's house," he announced to the others. Jane was grateful he hadn't said anything about Angela or Charlotte.

A second later he was grabbed and pulled to his feet – none too gently – by Ed, who was doing the pulling. He was then forced over to their car.

"You got anything to time him up with," Charlie called. So much for him being the sane one.

"No," Zack replied. He turned to face Jane and gave an evil little grin. "Turn around."

"Uh – I'd rather not," Jane answered. "This position is much too -"

" _Turn around_ ," Zack hissed. The next thing Jane knew, a knife appeared in the guy's hand. And not just _any_ knife – it was switchblade with a long, and very sharp looking blade. Jane turned around.

And that was the last thing he remembered. From the pain in his head – and stomach – he was pretty sure he'd been cold-cocked. He figured he must have a concussion and just prayed he hadn't ended up with a cracked skull.

It was only then, once he'd figured out both where he was and why he was here, that he noticed the voices. As soon as he heard them he realized they'd been going on for quite some time, but he hadn't been paying attention. The miners with their pickaxes in his skull had distracted him.

" – nothing here," one voice – Charlie if he wasn't mistaken – was saying.

"Nothing?"

"Just a kid's tricycle and a few little odds and ends. The house in the back has a bunch of furniture but it's all covered. Looks like he's just movin' – in, or out I can't say."

"Where's Zack?" It was Ed – the leader of the little gang – who asked.

"He went upstairs to look around. Must have been a fancy place at one time. You can see the ocean from outside."

"Yeah? Well I'd suggest you _don't_ go outside again – not unless you want me to shoot you. We're _hiding_ you idiot. We don't want anyone to see us!"

"I'm not stupid, Ed. I know that. But there's no one back there. It's just a cliff that looks over the ocean. And it's dark out. Who's going to see me?"

Ed sighed. "Yeah – okay – but we can't take any chances. What if a neighbor was out walking or something? We have to stay close to the house."

"But what about food?" Charlie asked. "I haven't eaten since breakfast and I'm hungry – and thirsty. Man, what I wouldn't give for a beer."

There was silence for a few moments until Jane heard footsteps approaching. He kept his eyes closed, hoping they would think he was still unconscious.

Of course it was hard to pretend after you received a boot in the stomach. He gasped and curled over – and this time he couldn't stop his stomach from rebelling.

At least he'd been wrong about his head falling off. It was still firmly attached, although the more he wretched the worse the pain. Instead of falling off, it was exploding.

"Oh gross! Whatcha do that for Ed? Now he's puked all over the floor and it's gonna stink in here. God, now I feel sick!"

"Oh stop being a baby. We're safe here but we need food and Mr. Jane here is going to get it for us."

"I'm not hungry now – damn, that's gross!"

Jane had to agree, although the smell was the least of his worries. His stomach finally settled down – now that it had been pretty much emptied – but his headache was even worse, if that was possible. And his mouth tasted like a sewer.

"Get up!" Ed toed him again, although fortunately this time it wasn't enough to hurt.

"What?" he's gasped, his eyes still closed. He really wished he _had_ remained unconscious. It was better than this.

"I said – _get up_! Or do you want me to kick you again?"

And that was just the incentive he needed. With another groan he forced himself to roll over, away from the disgusting puddle, and try and push himself onto his hands and knees. He was terribly shaky, and would have fallen, except someone grabbed his arm and hoisted him up.

And he almost threw up again. The world around him was spinning madly and he would have fallen if whoever – Ed he supposed – wasn't supporting him.

"Now, I want you to make a phone call," Ed told him softly. "And you're going to say exactly what I tell you to and nothing more – you got that?"

"Mmm – yeah," he answered, still swaying dangerously. "Uh – could I have some – water?" He had to get the taste out of his mouth and he also hoped it would settle him down a bit. The wooziness was causing the nausea to come back.

There was a pause but then he felt a glass being placed in his hand. He was glad he'd left a few dishes in the kitchen for the odd time he stayed here. He lifted a shaky hand and managed to down a few sips, although he also spilled a good amount.

"Okay – enough." The glass was taken away and he was pushed forward. He didn't quite know what was going on, although the next thing he knew he was up against the wall. Turning gratefully, he leaned up against it, which allowed Ed to drop his hands.

"Now, you're gonna order some food for all of us – and some beer. You got that?"

"Hmm? I – what?"

"I think you hit him too hard," laughed Charlie. "You've scrambled his brains."

"Yeah, probably. Still he's got enough of them left to order pizza and beer. Isn't that right Janey?"

He was too focused on staying upright and on _not_ throwing up again, to really hear what was being said. He did catch that he'd been asked a question though, and to prevent any further abuse he hummed a reply.

"Good. Now here's your phone. I'm gonna turn it back on long enough for you to make the call. After I dial you're gonna order 4 large pizzas, loaded and a case of beer -"

" _Two cases_!" shouted Charlie.

"Two cases. And you're gonna use your credit card, okay? You got that?"

"Uh – yeah," he murmured. "Four large pizzas and two cases of beer."

"And have them throw in some brownies!" Zack called as he returned from upstairs. "Ooh – what stinks in here!"

"Janey boy puked. You got all that Mr. Jane?" Ed asked.

"And brownies." Jane murmured. He watched as Ed dialed the number – he wondered briefly how he'd found it – and then he was handed the phone. He almost dropped it, his hands still shaky and his eyes seeing in triplicate, but he managed to hold on and put it to his ear.

"Yeah," he said when someone answered. It took him a couple of seconds to remember what he was doing, but a not-so-gentle nudge from Ed helped bring him back to the present.

"Yeah – four large pizzas – yeah with everything. Black olives?" He blinked and then squinted over to Ed. "Uh – olives?"

"Yeah – everything!"

"Yes please. Everything. Oh and 2 cases of beer. What kind?" he swayed and leaned even more of his weight against the wall. "I – don't know – what do you recommend? Okay – that's fine-"

"No light beer!" Charlie called.

"No light. It's not? Okay, good. Oh and brownies. You don't have any brownies? Uh what – chocolate cake?" He turned slowly to where he thought Zack was standing, although he really couldn't see that far.

"Yeah fine – just order it. Asshole!"

Jane was very tempted to ask for asshole, but figured he'd pay the price so instead he completed the order. The next part was the most difficult as they asked for his credit card number, and for the life of him he couldn't remember it – nor could he see well enough to read it. Ordinarily he knew all his card numbers by heart – and was concerned that the knowledge wasn't coming to him. He wondered if serious damage had been done to his brain.

Eventually he was able to read off the numbers, but it took a long time and the pizza delivery guy was clearly getting frustrated. He probably thought Jane was either really old, or disabled. To give him credit he'd stayed on the phone with him and eventually the order was taken.

"Forty minutes," he murmured when he was done. Ed immediately took his phone and pushed him down. As he was still leaning on the wall he was able to slide down until he was sitting with his back against it and his knees up. He laid his head gently on his knees, closing them and wishing he would pass out.

"Hey Curly! What's with the drawing on the wall upstairs," Zack asked suddenly.

"What are you talking about?" Ed turned to him with a frown.

"There's a big red smiley face on one of the walls upstairs. It's weird."

"So – what is it?"

Jane assumed the question was addressed to him, but wasn't quite sure how to answer. He definitely didn't want to try and explain about Red John but wasn't really up to making anything up. Instead he stayed quiet.

Of course that earned him a kick, this time on his hip – one that was definitely going to leave a bruise. Oh well, at least it wasn't his stomach.

"What is the smiley face about?" Ed asked. "In fact, what is it with this place. You live here or what?"

"No," he murmured.

"You sellin' it?"

It was something he had never once contemplated. He knew he should – many people had told him that. But he couldn't. Not until he'd caught Red John – and then he'd destroy that wall upstairs and _then_ he'd think about selling. For now this house was a monument to his guilt – and a reminder that he had a job to do to try and atone for the deaths of his wife and daughter.

"No," he said softly, too sick to even try and lie.

"You just movin' in?"

"Yes," he said. That was easier than explaining. "Haven't had a – chance yet."

"And what's with the smiley face?"

"Smiley face?" he asked, lifting his head slightly. "I – what?"

"He don't know," Zack said finally. "Someone must have broken in and painted it on the wall."

Oh, if they only knew, thought Jane. He hoped they'd quit talking about it. He just wanted to sleep. He lowered his head once more and let his eyes drift shut.

"There's something about this place that gives me the creeps," Charlie said after a moment. "I don't know what it is. It's almost like it's – haunted or somethin'."

"Don't be ridiculous," exclaimed Ed impatiently. "It's just empty."

"I don't know – you should go look at that face on the wall," Zack told him. "It's almost like it's – I don't know – painted in blood or somethin'."

"Now you're just being an idiot!" Ed told him. When the other two didn't answer, he sighed. "Fine. I'll go take a look. You're both a couple of scared little girls!"

Jane heard footsteps head towards the stairs. He wanted to call out, to tell Ed to stop. He didn't want any more people going into that room – defiling that space. It was his space – not for the eyes of anyone else.

"What are we gonna do with him?" whispered Charlie.

"Once things are safe we can get rid of him," Zack answered. "Just tie him up to somethin' heavy and throw him into the ocean."

"I don't like it," Charlie answered.

Yeah Charlie, thought Jane. You go!

"I don't wanna be responsible for killin' nobody!"

"You fool! We've _already_ killed someone."

"I didn't," Charlie defended himself. "That was you. You shot that guy. Nobody was supposed to get hurt!"

"He was reachin' for a gun," Zack said. "And it doesn't matter _who_ killed him. We all took part in the robbery so we're all guilty. And killing someone while doin' another crime will get us all the chair. So one more ain't gonna matter!"

Except it would matter to _him_ Jane thought. Which was interesting, a small part of him thought. Since he'd first discovered the bodies of his wife and child he'd lost any real desire to live. In fact, for the first few months he'd actively wanted to die. He'd even tried to take his own life, which had ended up with him spending six months in a mental hospital.

By the time he'd come out he no longer wished to kill himself. Instead he'd decided to focus on revenge. He was going to kill Red John – what happened to Patrick Jane afterward he didn't know or care. His life had ended with the death of the two people he loved most in the world.

But right now – he knew he really _didn't_ want to die. And interestingly enough, it wasn't just because he wouldn't finish off his quest to kill Red John. Instead he thought about Teresa, and the fact that he'd miss her. And he thought about Cho and Rigsby and Van Pelt and that he'd miss _them_. Honestly not as much as he would Teresa – but he refused to delve any more into that thought.

No, he didn't want to die – but unless something changed in the next few minutes, he was afraid he was going to.

* * *

"Did you try calling him?" Cho asked.

"No – I didn't think of that," Teresa answered, her voice heavy with sarcasm. "Of _course_ I did. I've called him repeatedly."

"Maybe he just doesn't want to talk to you – or to anybody I mean."

Teresa sighed. "Yeah, that's possible. I was kind of mean to him earlier."

"He screwed up. It wasn't your fault and he deserved to know."

"I know. But I didn't have to be _quite_ so angry at him. I think – Stan says he thinks -"

"Stan?"

"The security guard at the CBI. He saw Jane leave and said he looked really upset. Cho, I'm worried. He's not in his attic and he's not at his hotel. I've looked everywhere I can think of and I can't find him."

"Maybe he's gone to Malibu."

Teresa could have cursed. Why in hell hadn't she thought of his house? She knew he went there occasionally and if he really had been upset, that might have driven him there. In one sense she hoped he had gone to Malibu – she could stop worrying. But on the other hand, she hated when he went there. She knew he went when he had had a particularly bad time of it with Red John, or when he couldn't deal with thoughts of his wife or child.

"Why don't you call the Malibu police and have them drive by – see if he's there."

"Yeah, yeah that's a good idea. I'll do that."

"And if he's not, give me a call. We'll find him."

"Thanks Cho. I'm probably just over-reacting -"

"It's Jane," Cho replied. Teresa laughed softly. Nothing more needed to be said.

She hung up and then sat for a few seconds before picking up her phone again. A moment later she dialed the number for the Malibu police.

"He – my name is Teresa Lisbon. I'm with the CBI and we're looking for one of our agents. I wondered if someone could run by his house -"


	3. Doorbells

Jane drifted in and out of awareness, the sounds of the three men a steady thrum in the background. His stomach had settled down, but his head still felt as if someone had taken a hammer to it. In fact, that's probably exactly what had happened.

He had little awareness of how much time had passed since he's been attacked on the lookout. It was still night and he supposed it couldn't be past 2 am. since the men were waiting for pizza and that was the time the place closed. He wanted to hit himself – why could he remember that detail and nothing of importance?

As he lay there he wondered briefly if he could alert the delivery person about his plight, but that idea left as quickly as it came. Not only was he sure that Ed would have thought of that, he didn't want to endanger some innocent kid.

He tried to think of some way out of the mess he was in, but his mind wasn't able to come up with anything. He couldn't concentrate at all, instead wanting nothing so much as to lie down on a soft bed and pass out.

Teresa! Maybe she would realize he was missing and would ride to the rescue? A sudden surge of hope had him feeling slightly better – then that was followed swiftly by the realization that she was angry at him and hadn't wanted to see him. She wouldn't even know he was missing until it was too late.

And maybe she wouldn't even miss him then, he thought with a bitter laugh. She'd be better off without him – messing up her life, causing problems, pissing people off and creating paperwork and headaches for her.

How did she put up with him, he wondered? He sighed and tried to turn his head – which caused an abrupt stab of pain – and caused him to feel even sorrier for himself. Teresa and Cho, Rigsby and Grace – they'd all be much happier without him.

"Oh stop it!" he whispered to himself. He was growing maudlin and self-pitying – both things he hated with a passion. He'd refused to allow himself to become an object of pity for anyone, including himself and he wasn't about to start now – just because he was injured and in big – big, big – _big_ trouble.

So what the hell are you going to do about your situation, Paddy me boy? At least he was on home turf, that had to count for something. He had to figure out some way of getting out of this. He wasn't _quite_ ready to die.

"When the hell is that food getting here?" Zack complained. "Hey you! Pretty boy! How long did they say it was going to be?"

Jane slowly lifted his head and tried to look at the idiot who had spoken. His eyes didn't seem to want to focus and squinting hurt, so he closed them and rested his head back on his knees. "Forty minutes," he said softly.

" _What_? What the fuck did he say? Hey!" he walked over and again kicked Jane in the hip. "I asked you a question!"

"And he answered you Zack," Charlie said then. "He said forty minutes."

"Well he should talk louder!"

"Leave him alone," Charlie spoke again. "Can't you see he's hurt?"

"So? That was his fault."

"Why the hell was it his fault?" Charlie sounded as if he thought his comrade was two cans short of a six-pack. "You're the one who hit him over the head."

"Yeah, and I wouldn't have had to, would I, if he had done what I asked!"

"You ass! He _did_ do what you asked and you hit him anyway!"

Jane opened his eyes and tried to focus on the two men who were now engaged in a loud argument. His sympathies were definitely with Charlie, who at least seemed to have a tiny thread of decency. Zack, on the other hand, was a raging lunatic – and very, very dangerous.

"What's it to you?" Zack shouted. "You like the little shit, don't you? I bet you wannna do him. You like his blond curls, that's why you're feelin sorry for him. Well go ahead, I won't mind. In fact, I think I'd like to watch you fu -"

"Shut up."

Ed's voice, quiet and steady, interrupted the argument between the other two. Jane glanced at him and again realized that Ed was the one to watch. He was the one in control – the leader. Somehow Jane also knew that he was dangerous. In fact, he was probably the most dangerous of the three. He certainly was the smartest.

"Why should I?" Zack spewed back. "You're not the boss of me!"

The next thing Jane heard was a loud thud and a strangled shout. He blinked to try and see what was going on – and wasn't surprised to see Zack up against the wall, held there by Ed, who was gripping him by the throat.

"I _am_ the boss of you, you moron," Ed told him softly. "I'm the boss of _both_ of you – and you'll do what I say and I say to stop arguing. The food's gonna be here any minute and the last thing we need is to have the delivery guy hear you fighting. Now _shut up!_ "

That seemed to finally get through to Zack, who grunted something and then was quiet. In fact, for the next few minutes no one spoke. Jane's mind began to drift.

He thought about the last case his team had just finished. It had been a difficult one, made even more complicated by the fact that the people involved were connected to the Governor and senior people in his administration. Jane always hated that – hated that they were expected to tip toe around VIP's and give them special treatment. As far as he was concerned, _no_ one should get special treatment when a crime had been committed. Unfortunately, that attitude more often then not got him – and his team – into hot water.

He sighed. Maybe he should learn to be more discrete. Maybe he shouldn't _try_ and piss off people who were important – or who thought they were. It wasn't that things would be easier for him, because he honestly didn't care, but it would make things easier for Teresa and for the rest of the team. And he did owe them something, after all. They had accepted him and supported him as one of their own, even though he'd been forced on them by Minelli.

His mind – still unable to concentrate or to focus on anything, flipped to a new topic. He wondered how Minelli was doing and admitted to himself that he missed the old guy. Although he'd always seemed to look out for himself, Jane knew that underneath his grumpy exterior was a man who was basically honest and who did care for the people working under him. He was also much easier to con than Hightower, who had proved to be a more rigorous opponent.

Speaking of Hightower – he was disappointed that she'd given Teresa so much trouble. It had been Jane who had called the guy an ass – not her. She really shouldn't have to bear the brunt of his impatience with narcissistic blowhards!

Poor Teresa! He'd have to buy her something to make her feel better. He'd already given her a pony so he'd have to figure out what else she would like. Or maybe he'd take her out somewhere. Yeah, that was a good idea. He'd take her to a jazz club – she'd like that.

He was so caught up in his thoughts – which were flipping around like a deck of cards in a magician's hands – that he didn't hear the doorbell. It was only when he heard footsteps walking past him that he realized something was up.

He lifted his head – unable to stop the small groan that escaped. What was happening now?

"Shut up!" someone hissed. He rather thought it was Charlie this time.

"Huh?" he asked, shaking his head to try and clear it. Damn! That was a mistake. The nausea suddenly reared up again and he moaned as he tried to stop himself from heaving again.

"Would you shut the fuck up!" This time it was Zack who spoke so Jane figured he'd better listen. He took a deep breath and tried to calm down.

He heard the front door open and wished he could see what was happening. Why was there someone at the – oh yeah – he suddenly remembered the pizza.

The next moment Jane was confused by the flashing red light that shone on the wall opposite him. He couldn't see beyond the half wall that separated the dining room - where he now sat - from the front room. He also couldn't figure out what could be causing the lights, and looked to Zack and Charlie – who were both standing over him – to ask them.

Before he opened his mouth he heard a voice from the front door, which stopped him cold.

"What can I do for you officer?" Ed's voice floated back to the living room where Jane and the two out of three criminals were waiting.

"Good evening Sir. My name is Officer Clark from the Malibu Police. We received a call from the California Bureau of Investigation who asked us to stop by," a voice responded.

"Uh – really? Why was that?" Ed asked, clearly trying to sound relaxed and unperturbed.

"Are you Patrick Jane?" the other voice asked. "cause my boss got a call from an Agent Lisbon who asked us to check and see if a guy by that name was here. I guess he was worried that he hadn't heard from him."

"Yes," Ed laughed softly. "My name is Patrick and this is my house. As you can see," he gestured to the empty room behind him, "I'm in the process of moving in. I just drove over to check a few things."

"Next time you might want to tell Agent Lisbon where you are!" the officer told him. "We don't really have time to be checking up on people like this!"

"I know, and I'm sorry Officer Clark. I will definitely make sure I tell him. You'd think I was a kid the way he acts."

"Hmm – this Lisbon guy sounds more a wife," Clark huffed. "Well – you can go back to what you're doing. I'll let the CBI know that you're here, but I suggest you call Agent Lisbon directly and let him know too – take the poor man out of his misery."

"I will officer – thanks so much!"

There were a few more words spoken, which Jane couldn't quite hear and then the front door slammed shut. He peered up at two of his captors and almost wanted to laugh. They both looked as if they'd just about dirtied their pants.

"Oh my God! That was the cops," Charlie breathed, finally coming of what appeared to be a stupor. "They almost found us."

"They did not _almost find us_ ," Ed said sarcastically as he moved back into view. "I handled everything and they're gone."

"How do you know?" Zack asked. "Maybe they're planning on coming back."

"The cop believed me – why wouldn't he. He'll report back that Patrick Jane was here and that will be the end of it." Ed sounded confident, although Jane could detect a ribbon of fear running through his voice. He suddenly felt a small dot of hope.

"Hey you!" Ed came over and looked down at his prisoner. "Who's agent Lisbon and why is he interested in you?"

"Mmm," Jane answered, his eyes closed. He counted one. two – _yup_ , there was the kick. "Ooof!" he exhaled and cursed the men who had kidnapped him. "I told you I was meeting a friend," he said, trying to think up something that would help him. "He must have call he – him and told him I didn't show up."

"So, do you know him?" Ed was looking down at him from what seemed to be a great height. Jane tried to clear his eyes and see the leader of this little band of men.

"My friend?" He asked, sounding confused. That garnered him another kick – his left hip was going to be black and blue if it wasn't already.

"Agent Lisbon, you moron!"

"Agent Lisbon?" he asked, his eyes slowly drooping shut. "Don't – know any – Agent Lisbon," he muttered. "My friend – knows – him." With that he faded out.

"Shit! We didn't think of the friend. We shoulda stayed back and killed him when he showed up."

Before Ed had a chance to reply the doorbell rang again. Without missing a beat, the three criminals each had their guns out, they moved out of the dining room area and into the living room and pointed their weapons at the main door. Charlie was sweating, clearly nervous and frightened. Zack had a wide grin on his face, and eyes that looked as if there was nothing behind them. Ed simply looked – like Ed. Calm, quiet, and in control.

"What're we gonna do?" Zack whispered. "We're gonna have to kill him. No one will know! We''ll bury him somewhere so no one will ever be able to find him."

"You freakin' idiot!" hissed Ed. "We can't just go kill a cop! They'll be after us in a second!"

"But what can we do?" Charlie asked. "He must know you were lying, otherwise why did he come back?"

"I think it's the pizza delivery," Jane finally spoke up, hoping he was right and that no one would get hurt.

"Oh shit!" For the first time Ed seemed to be thrown – his calm demeanor had obviously been false. "I totally forgot. Charlie, go get the pizza."

"But what if it's the cop?"

"It's not. I heard the car drive away," he admitted. Clearly he'd missed that fact when the doorbell rang. "Just go."

Charlie made his way to the door and soon could be heard talking to what was definitely the pizza delivery person. A moment later he returned with a stack of pizza boxes and a case of beer.

"Hey – didn't pretty boy order two cases?" Zack asked, suddenly forgetting everything but his desire for alcohol.

"Yeah, the other one's by the door. I couldn't carry everything."

Five minutes later the three men were seated on the floor, wolfing down the pizza and guzzling beer. Ed seemed pleased with everything and even went so far as to offer a piece of pizza to Jane.

He hummed a refusal. Even the smell was making him sick. His headache wasn't getting better and he didn't know how much longer he could stay conscious. Hoping that no one objected, he allowed himself to slide down until he was laying flat. The next moment he was asleep.

* * *

Teresa was sitting in her office – Cho was sitting across from her and Rigsby had just entered. Grace had called and said she was on her way in. All of them were worried about Jane.

Suddenly Teresa's phone rang and she grabbed it and had answered before the first ring had even finished. "Hello?"

" _Hi – I'm calling for Agent Lisbon. This is Officer Clark from the Malibu Police."_

"This is Agent Lisbon," she answered. "Were you able to locate Patrick Jane?"

There was silence on the other end of the phone and then Officer Clark spoke again.

" _Uh – are you sure this is Agent Lisbon?"_

Teresa frowned. "Yes, this is me. Uh – did you get my request to check on Patrick Jane?" She looked up at Cho and shook her head. Something felt off.

" _Uh – yes I did but - you're a woman."_

This time Teresa paused, her expression growing dark. "Yes, I'm a woman," she snapped. "What the hell- if you'll pardon me – does that have to do with anything?"

Great – it sounded like she'd been connected to a macho, woman hating policeman. She had no time for this and was ready to snap someone's head off if he –

" _I'm sorry,"_ the officer interrupted her train of thought. " _It was just – I thought Agent Lisbon was a man."_

"No – I'm sorry – what does it matter?"

" _Well – I went out to Patrick Jane's house – the man you asked my boss to check up on -"_

"Yes?"

" _And well – a guy was there who said he was this Patrick Jane."_

Teresa felt herself relax and breathed out a long sigh. She looked over at Cho, Rigsby and the newly arrived Van Pelt and gave a thumbs up. Both Rigsby and Van Pelt responded with a smile, and even Cho looked pleased.

"That's great Officer Clark. Thank you!"

" _But – you don't understand,"_ the officer replied on the other end of the phone. _"He spoke about you – as if you were a guy."_

"What?" she asked, sounding confused.

" _Yeah – when I told him that Agent Lisbon was asking about him, he responded as if you were a man. Called you "he" and everything. I mean, I also assumed you were a man – sorry, I just didn't know – and he didn't correct me. It seems kinda weird, unless he's never met you?"_

"Yes, yes it does, and yes, he's met me. In fact we work together." she answered softly. "Officer Clark, could you describe the man who said he was Patrick Jane?"

" _Sure. He was about 5'11" tall, brown hair, brown eyes. He was dressed in jeans and a t-shirt and looked kinda – sorry – but he looked kinda grubby, as if he hadn't showered in a few days. He had a tattoo of a -"_

"Agent!" Teresa interrupted. "That was not Patrick Jane. I'm assuming you didn't ask for any ID?"

" _No – I didn't. I'm sorry – I was told this was a favor for you guys and that the guy wasn't a criminal or anything. I didn't know I had to ask for an ID!"_

"It's fine officer," she told him, her heart sinking. Something was definitely wrong.

" _Did you want me to go back and check?"_ the officer asked.

"No – not yet. I'm worried that something might be wrong, but I'm not sure yet what it could be. Do you think you could have a couple of officers watch the house – but without being seen?"

" _Yeah, that shouldn't be a problem – the Captain told us to cooperate with you guys. But what are you gonna do?"_

"My team and I are coming to Malibu. I'll have my boss contact your Captain. Also, if you could check to see if anyone matches the description you just gave me, that would be great."

" _Sure – happy to. It'll bring a little excitement into my life. Usually I spend my time breaking up wild beach parties."_

" – and Officer Clark – thank you!"

" _No problem,"_ the reply came. _"Glad to help out fellow law enforcement folks."_

"What is it boss?" Grace asked as Lisbon slowly placed her phone down on her desk.

She looked up at her teammates and took a deep breath. "Something's wrong. Someone answered Jane's door – and it wasn't him."

"Maybe it was a friend," Rigsby told her.

"Jane doesn't have friends," Cho said. At the glare he received from Grace he clarified. "Okay, he might have friends, I don't know, although I've never seen any. But I don't think he drove all the way out to Malibu to see one. That's not like Jane."

"I agree, it's not," Teresa answered. "Come on – we're going to Malibu and figure this out. And if Jane is okay – well then I'm gonna kill him!"

"But – it'll take hours to get there," Grace said as she trailed behind.

"No it won't. We're gonna fly."

A moment later Teresa's team was on the move, headed for the airport. They were going to make sure their teammate – and yes, their friend – was safe.


	4. Hide-away

Jane was woken up by loud laughter. It took him a moment to remember where he was and what had happened. When he did he had to stop himself from groaning, instead letting out a deep sigh.

He was still on the floor of his house and the laughter was coming from one of the men who had kidnapped him. He opened one eye and wasn't surprised to find out that Zack was the one who was cackling as if the funniest thing in the world had just happened.

Jane moved carefully, curious as to what the most unstable of his captors had found so funny. He couldn't see Ed and wondered, briefly, where he was. He did catch sight of Charlie, who was cursing softly and trying to remove something from his shirt. For a moment Jane thought it was blood, which caused his heart to pound more quickly, but soon realized it was actually pizza sauce.

"Shut the hell up!" Charlie growled. "It's not funny. You knocked into me!"

"Na – it's just that you're a klutz!" Zack continued to laugh uproariously at his colleague.

Jane couldn't figure out why Charlie dropping pizza on himself was so funny, but then he saw the half dozen empty beer bottles sitting beside Zack and another one in his hand. The man was well on his way to getting drunk.

It worried Jane to see Zack, the crazy one, drinking so heavily, even if it was only beer. He was unstable as it was and who knew what he'd do with too much alcohol in his system. It also worried him that quite a bit of time must have elapsed since he'd fallen asleep – or had been unconscious. He couldn't tell if he'd been asleep or passed out.

"Hey – pretty boy's awake!" Zack called out, a silly grin on his face.

"I wish you'd stop calling me that," Jane muttered, pushing himself up so that he was sitting.

"What? You don't like to be called that? But you are – pretty I mean. Why look at all those girly curls! I bet your wife loved to put her hands through them!"

Jane didn't answer, not wanting to think about his wife in conjunction with the mean SOB across from him.

"So? Did she? Did she like your curls pretty boy?"

"Shut up Zack!" Charlie said, still working at the stain on his shirt. "Leave the guy alone."

"Why should I? And who the hell are you to tell me to shut up? I wanna know something about Mr. Jane – or should I say _Missy_ Jane?" He laughed again and took a long swig of beer. "How come you got a girl's name?" he asked. "Hey, pretty curls and a girl's name – maybe you really are a girl? And I bet guys go for you, don't they?"

"God Zack – you're such an ass!" Charlie looked over at the other man and scowled. "Do you think you're funny? Cause you're not."

"I've had it with you asshole!" Zack got up and without warning launched himself at Charlie. Immediately the two men were fighting, rolling over empty pizza boxes and knocking down empty beer bottles.

Jane watched for a few seconds, idly guessing who would be the winner in this fight, when it suddenly dawned on him that he was missing his chance. Ed still hadn't appeared and neither of the two men fighting were paying any attention to him.

* * *

He got up – or at least he _tried_ to get up. It was easier thought than done. It took him a few seconds to finally make it to his feet and he had to use the wall for support. Even when standing he was so dizzy he almost keeled over, and only stopped himself by lurching over to the kitchen counter and hanging on for dear life as the room tilted and swirled around him.

A few moments later the madly dancing black spots in his eyes slowly settled and he was able to bring the room into some kind of focus. Zack and Charlie where still fighting and he knew that he had to move _now_.

He forced himself to walk to the end of the counter and then decided to head for the back door. It was closer and there were more places to hide then out front. He pushed himself off and stumbled towards the back door, praying he would make it before Ed appeared or the other men noticed.

His head hadn't stopped throbbing since he'd woken up, but now his stomach decided to rejoin the Jane Torment Band. An agonizing bout of nausea almost derailed his escape attempt as his stomach decided it wanted to reach the door before the rest of him. Fortunately he was able to swallow it back down, although the feeling stayed with him.

At that moment a picture popped into his head – a picture of the one person who could save him from the present situation and that was Teresa Lisbon.

Damn – did he ever wish he hadn't ticked her off! She would be here for him now if she wasn't so angry at him. A moment later he frowned. No, if she hadn't been angry at him _he_ wouldn't be here.

Right then he hit the door – literally hit it as his legs gave out. He managed not to ooze to the floor, but that was only because of the doorknob, which he grasped with everything he had left inside him.

Now to get out! He glanced over his shoulder to see the two men both lying on the floor, no longer fighting, although they were both clearly exhausted and panting deeply. Uh oh. They still hadn't noticed his – he hoped soon to be absence – but if he didn't hurry there _would_ be no absence at all.

He turned the doorknob, thankful that the deadbolt had been left open – he assumed by the merry band of crappy criminals.

He grinned even as the door swung open – one Patrick Jane attached firmly to it. Crappy criminals! He liked that. He'd have to tell Lisbon, sure that she'd appreciate the alliteration.

The cold of the evening – or night, since he didn't know the exact time – hit him squarely in the very sore and bruised chest. It hurt – but it also brought him a level of lucidity he hadn't experienced since he'd been cold-cocked. It also made him realize he'd better move his butt if he wanted to get out of his present predicament.

He stood straighter and stepped forward, as quickly as he could while still weaving from dizziness and nausea. He frowned then, knowing he had to do something but – oh damn – the door. He turned and pushed it closed, stopping it just before it slammed and trying to close it as quietly as possible. He then turned back around and headed out into his back yard.

His first thought was to make it to the guest-house but then decided that that would be the first place that Ed and the others would look. He wondered briefly if he could make it to the street, but decided that too was a bad idea. His house, like most others in the area, was isolated. He was also pretty sure that none of his neighbors would open their gates to him even if he could make it that far. He didn't even know some of the newer neighbors since he hadn't lived in the house since the murder of his wife and daughter.

He finally decided to head towards the beach, hoping that the men wouldn't bother to try and find him in the dark, although he knew that was pretty unlikely. Still, there were a couple of good hiding spots in the cliffs. If he could make it that far, he might have a chance. The only problem was going to be the narrow trail down. It would do him no good to fall off and kill himself.

* * *

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Ed practically shouted when he returned from his exploration on the second floor of the house. Both Zack and Charlie were just beginning to pull themselves up after their fight and things were strewn all over the floor, including smashed pizza boxes, beer bottles and a couple of slices of mangled and messy pizza.

"He started it!" whined Zack. "I was just talkin' to pretty boy over there when -"

"Over _where?_ Where is Jane, you morons?" Ed hissed, his voice no longer loud, but as a result sounded all the more menacing.

"What?" frowned Zack in confusion. He looked around the room but didn't seem to see anything wrong. It was Charlie who finally realized.

"Oh shit! He's gone."

"Nice of you to notice!" Ed sneered. "Now where the hell did he go?"

"What are you – oh – pretty boy's gone," Zack looked around again his voice puzzled as he tried to figure out, through the haze of alcohol and post-fight adrenaline, what had happened to their captive.

"Where did he go," Ed ground out. "If he gets away and tells someone I'm gonna shoot you both!"

"He can't have gone far," reasoned Charlie, dabbing at his split and bleeding lip. "He was hurt too bad."

"Yeah, and you gave me a hard time about that," Zack said sarcastically. "If he'd been okay he'd be long gone."

"With the way you two assholes are going on, he probably already is. Charlie, check out front – and make sure no one sees you."

"How am I -?"

"Use your fuckin brains!" Ed yelled. "Zack you check out back – I'm gonna check the house."

"How come I gotta go outside?" Zack complained. "It's dark out there."

"What? You scared?" Ed sneered.

"No! I'm not scared – I just don't have a flashlight and don't wanna fall off a cliff."

"Right now I'm thinkin' of _throwin'_ you off a cliff," Ed told him furiously. "Now go before the guy has time to walk all the way to New York!"

Zack continued to grumble as he made his way to the back door. Charlie was quieter – already realizing that pissing Ed off wasn't a good idea. As crazy as Zack seemed, he knew that Ed was the more dangerous of the two.

* * *

Charlie was regretting – had been for quite a few hours – getting involved with Ed Bigelow and Zachary Davis. He'd arrived in LA a few months previously, after having travelled across country from Philadelphia. He'd made his way by doing odd jobs, but mostly through petty theft and shoplifting. He'd been raised in a whole series of foster homes and at eighteen had been dropped off at a homeless shelter with a plastic bag full of used clothes. Since then his life had pretty much gone downhill.

He'd met Ed at a bar when the other man had bought him a drink. He'd seemed friendly and Charlie had appreciated meeting someone who knew the area really well. They'd spent the evening talking, until eventually the conversation had gotten around to money – and the desire to get it without working – something both of them had in common.

It was Ed who had told him about the bank – a small branch in Calabasas – that he'd been watching now for weeks. He planned to rob it after the delivery of a major shipment of cash that happened every couple of weeks. Charlie soon found himself part of the plot.

He was pretty sure the two of them could have pulled it off without a hitch – until the moment that Ed brought Zack on board. He still couldn't figure out why he had done it and was sure his partner was regretting it to this day.

But Zack had become part of their team – and had ended up almost getting them killed. What was almost as bad – almost but not quite – was that Zach had killed the security guard at the bank and they were now wanted for murder.

It wasn't the way that Charlie had hoped his life would turn out, although he knew that his background in the foster system – wanted by no one – was the purest training ground for his present way of life. He knew, and almost accepted, that a long life was not in store for him. No, he'd go down in a blaze of gory, when some cop decided to make a name for himself.

Charlie checked all around the front of the house, careful to keep himself hidden to potential passers-by. He was confident no one would be out at this hour and the property was secluded, so he didn't worry too much about being seen.

He felt kinda sorry for the man they'd kidnapped. He hadn't done anything wrong, poor bugger, but was probably going to end up dead as a result of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. For a moment Charlie thought about letting him go, if he happened to find him, but then thought better of it. No – there was still a chance that they could get out of this mess, but not if Jane reported what – and more importantly _who_ he'd seen.

So, as much as he didn't like it, he was gonna do whatever he could to find and return Patrick Jane.

Zack left by the back door, pissed at Ed for making him look outside for the asshole they'd kidnapped. It was Charlie's fault the guy had disappeared and he should be the one to find him.

It was dark in the back – the street lights totally obscured by the trees. Even the moon was hidden behind clouds. Zack would never have admitted it to a soul – but he _was_ afraid of the dark.

It brought back memories of his father – the bastard who'd loved to play sadistic games with his only son, making him run away in the dark and then catching him and hurting him. Zack didn't like to think about his old man, although he did grin when he thought about the the fact that as of now he was burning in hell.

He'd made sure his father would never hurt him again – nor would anyone ever find his body.

Zack jumped at a sound, but then breathed a sigh of relief when he realized it was only some small critter. He was jumpy as hell and he hoped he'd come across blondie's body sometime soon. The guy was hurt – he'd bashed his scull in – and hopefully couldn't make it too far. The best scenario would be for him to fall off a cliff into the ocean – although on second thought, Zack didn't want to miss the chance of dispatching the guy himself.

He practically screamed when something brushed up against him, and cursed when he discovered it was nothing more than the branch of a tree. Fuck Ed for making him do this. _He_ should be the one out here. He's the one who had insisted on bringing the guy. They should have shot him and dumped him where they found him. They could camp out in his house for days, until the manhunt ended.

Zack finally found a trail – a faint one that had overgrown – but it looked like it might head towards the ocean side of the house. He followed it carefully, relieved to be out of the woods – literally, if not figuratively.

* * *

He continued to move forward, carefully, hoping to come across their hostage. He grinned, thinking of how much he'd like to play with the guy, just like his father used to do to him. Yup – he was a pretty boy all right – pretty enough for some fun.

Jane made his way – lurched his way if truth were told – to the path that led to the cliff. He and Angela used to walk this way, down to the beach. During the day it was steep but not overly dangerous. At night it could be treacherous.

He'd put up a fence towards the end of the trail, afraid that Charlotte would try and get down on her own one day, and fall. He'd been frightened as she was an adventurous child. It was one of the reasons he'd taught her to swim at an early age.

Angela used to complain that Charlotte took after him – leaping into things before really thinking them through. Fortunately, she'd say, Charlotte was also like her father in that she always seemed to get _out_ of trouble as easily as she got into it.

As Jane stumbled along the trail – hanging on to branches whenever he could – he allowed himself to think about his wife and daughter. He could almost hear his little girl's laughter as they set out on adventures together. She used to love to pretend to be a princess and to hide from the dragon (Patrick) and to be saved by the beautiful Queen (Angela). Sometimes he'd get to be the handsome prince, who would save the beautiful Princess Charlotte. He used to tell her that one day she wouldn't want her father to be her prince – she'd laugh and kiss him and tell him that she would stay with him and love him always.

He stumbled and fell to his knees, almost crying out in pain as his headache spiked and his knees were scraped. He didn't know if he'd fallen because of his injury, or because of the tears that were filling his eyes. He didn't allow himself to cry much anymore – but the head injury – and the day - had weakened his defenses. Right now all he wanted to see his wife and daughter waiting for him at the end of the trail and tell him how much they loved him.

He pulled himself to his feet, his stomach again rebelling. He forced himself forward, but suddenly began to retch and heave. The entire contents of his stomach – whatever was left after his last bout – came up in a violent spray. He coughed and choked, and would have fallen once more, except that he grabbed onto a young sapling and held on for dear life. He knew if he fell now, he wouldn't be able to get up.

Once his vomiting stopped he forced himself to move, sure that someone would be looking for him. He had to make it down to the beach – for some reason he felt that he'd be safe once there.

Although he was aware that the path ended suddenly, he had been expecting to come to the gate. It was only when he almost took one step too many – right over the edge of the cliff – that he remembered that the gate was gone. He'd torn it down in a rage after the murders. It had been a reminder of his failure to protect his little girl – not from the dangers of nature, but from the dangers of a self-centered and arrogant father.

He balanced precariously on the edge, managing to pull himself back at the last minute. He had thought about throwing himself over the cliff, many times, but only the realization that it wasn't quite high enough to cause a sure death – possibly only severe injury – had caused him to hesitate.

When he finally had decided to take his own life, it had been by walking out into a highway in front of a fast moving car. Unfortunately – although he only came to believe that much later – the car driver had had incredible reflexes and had managed to swerve and only clip him. He'd ended up slightly hurt but nowhere near death. He'd also ended up in a mental hospital for six months.

But now he certainly wasn't looking to die. In fact he was doing everything in his power to survive. "Pay attention Patrick," he whispered to himself. No one was going to come and rescue him –not after the ass he'd been. So now it was up to him and he'd better get his head on straight and do what he had to do.

He looked around – although his eyes couldn't quite follow the motion of his head. He wanted to groan, but instead took a few deep breaths to try and steady the dizziness. Once everything had settled he carefully sought the beginning of the downward path.

"There you are," he said softly, heading carefully over to the path now almost made invisibly by bushes, which had grown up. He pushed aside the branches and carefully took a step down. He'd have to take it carefully.

It was as he took the first couple of steps that he heard a noise and saw a light shine through the trees. Someone had come outside, which probably meant they were looking for him.

"Damn," he murmured. He'd known it would happen, but he'd hoped for a few more minutes. He began to move more quickly, trying to ignore the pain and dizziness. He couldn't afford to think about anything but survival.

"Where the fuck are you!" Zack swore as he pushed aside more branches. He hadn't seen anything of Jane and was about to turn around and head back to the house when he got a wiff of something. He stopped dead and then took a step forward. It was only when he slipped and fell to his knees that he realized.

"Oh shit! Gross!" He put his hand down to help get to his feet and felt the slippery, slimy mess. The smell hit him again. He had just fallen into a puddle of vomit – which was disgusting, but also meant that Jane had been here and had to be close.

He furiously wiped his hands on the ground, feeling like he wanted to throw up himself. As he pushed himself to his feet he decided he _really_ wanted to kill Jane now. He was going to stink of puke!

He moved forward more rapidly– less worried about the dark and more determined to find blondie. He was looking forward to having some fun and then paying him back for the puke.

Jane was a third of the way down when he heard a voice. He didn't know who it was, but he could tell the person was angry – so probably Zack or Ed. He began to hurry, hoping that the path was much the same as it had been the last time he'd been down. He had to rely on his instincts and on his memory because he could barely see more than six inches in front of his face.

The moon had gone behind some clouds – clouds, which were rare in California. Jane didn't know whether to be happy for the protection of darkness or angry that he couldn't see where he was going.

But the guys behind you will have even less of an idea, he told himself. That thought kept him moving forward, even though everything in his body was telling him to stop and rest.

He almost did a face-plant again when he reached the bottom of the cliff before realizing it. Thinking there was another step down, his foot hit solid ground where he wasn't expecting it, causing him to lose his balance. He managed to save himself at the last second.

Tottering uncertainly, he gave himself a few seconds to rest. But then a sound from the top of the cliff scared him and he began to move. Someone had found the trail and was coming down. He had to get out of here and get to safety.

Zack had found the trail – the overgrown, steep trail down to the beach. He could hear the waves from here and smell the sea air. He'd always like the ocean. Maybe after they killed Jane they could just stay and live here. They'd just tell the neighbors that Jane had sold them the house. What wouldn't he give to live in Malibu!

Getting down the cliff was hard – much harder than he'd thought it would be. He continually slipped and almost went down the hill on his ass. The one thing that kept him going was the belief that he'd find Jane at the bottom.

In fact Jane was no longer at the bottom of the trail. Instead he'd made his way to the cave – Charly's and his cave. The two of them had discovered it on one of their adventure walks and they'd turned it into their secret hiding place. Although Angela had known were it was, they'd kept that fact from their daughter. She'd loved the idea of a secret place that only her Daddy knew about.

The only problem with the cave was that it was hard to find if you didn't know where it was. That was a good thing as far as the band of criminals was concerned, but Jane worried that he wouldn't be able to find it in the dark. It had been years since he'd been here, and if it had been for anything other than to save his life, he would have avoided it like the plague. It brought back too many memories he didn't know if he could handle.

He continued to walk along the bottom of the cliff, stumbling over the rough stones. The sound of the ocean drowned out most other sounds here – and he worried that someone was closer behind him than he knew. He could feel his heart beating furiously and he found it hard to breathe. The fact that – at the least – he had bruised ribs didn't help.

He almost walked right by the mouth of the cave. The entrance was hidden by a rock which jutted out into the path. To see the entrance you'd have to turn around and look back, which most people wouldn't do as the trail at this point was treacherous. There was another sharp drop, which, at high tide, was right into the churning water. He'd had to carefully guide Charlotte with him at this point.

It was only when he'd taken a few steps beyond the entrance, missing it completely, that the moon came out from behind a cloud and the beach was suddenly lit brightly. He had to shade his eyes, and his headache spiked but a moment later he blinked and suddenly knew where he was.

With a sigh he took a few steps back and pushed himself into the opening. He had to bend down – it was shorter than him – which also created problems when he grew dizzier. He also suffered a fierce flashback – remembering how Charly would giggle over the fact that she fit through the entrance perfectly, while he had to squeeze himself into it.

After a few minutes of struggle, the feeling that he wanted to vomit again, and the strong desire to pass out, Patrick made it inside the secret cave. He stumbled back and then sat down abruptly. A strangled 'grunt' came out of his mouth as his right buttock landed on top of a sharp rock. He'd have a lovely bruise.

He took a few deep breaths and then carefully, slowly leaned back. He just needed to pass out for a few minutes, a few, short min -

Zack was cursing up a storm by the time he reached the bottom of the hill. The going down had been a pain and his arms and legs were scratched. He'd almost fallen off a couple of times, swearing at the man who had caused this situation. God – if he found him he was going to cut him up as slowly as possible and then feed him, one part at a time, into the ocean.

Zack reached the bottom of the cliff and looked both left and right. He was sure that Patrick couldn't be too far ahead of him. He didn't really have anywhere to go. Zack was sure he would find the man somewhere close by.

He took a step forward, and then another one, and was soon following the bottom of the cliff. There was no way in hell that Patrick Jane was going to escape!


	5. Remembrance

_**I wanted to explain the use of swear words in this story. Normally I use as little as possible - I find it usually distracting and often doesn't fit the character. In this story I felt like it would be totally in character for the bad guys - especially Zach. I find it equally as distracting when people use euphemisms in scenarios where most people would swear (hero drops a hammer on his toe and says "oh darn" - not realistic). So ... I'm sorry if anyone is offended but I have to be true to my characters and the scenes.**_

 _ **Thank you to all of you who have reviewed. I don't always get back to people right away, but please know I appreciate it greatly and you inspire me!**_

Teresa wanted to scream. They'd arrived at the airport and they'd been happy to find a plane ready and waiting. Hightower had come through for them. Unfortunately, they were still waiting for the okay to take off due to some problem with a disabled plane. The delay was killing her.

"It'll be okay boss," Cho told her from the seat beside her. "We'll be there soon. It's not a long drive from Burbank to Malibu."

They'd agreed it would be faster to fly to the smaller, Burbank airport from Sacramento than to fly into LAX, which was huge, congested and a longer way from Malibu. She just wished the damn plane would get going!

Almost as if in answer to her silent words, the pilot came on and announced they had been given the go ahead to take off. The ride itself was only about an hour and a car would be waiting for them at the other end.

"Any word from the Malibu police department?" Grace asked. She was sitting next to Rigsby who was across the aisle from Cho. It was a small plane with only eight seats, two deep on each side.

"Just that they saw someone come out the front door and walk around for a few minutes. They couldn't tell who it was other than it was an average sized man."

"Could it have been Jane?" Rigsby asked. "I mean, he is average."

"No he's not," Cho answered, no inflection in his voice.

"I meant his height," Rigsby clarified. "He's anything but average in other ways."

"Maybe it _was_ him," Grace said hopefully. "What I can't figure out is why he drove all the way to Malibu. He seemed fine at the end of the case although he told me he was tired and was looking forward to an evening listening to music and reading a book. "

There was a long pause filled only with deep silence before Lisbon finally answered. "It was my fault," she told her team.

"It was not your fault boss," Cho told her. "You just told him the truth."

"But I didn't need to be so mean about it," she said, her voice filled with guilt.

"What did you say?" Grace wanted to know, although immediately she looked uncomfortable for asking.

"She told him he'd been an ass for how he'd behaved during the case."

"You did?" Grace's eyes grew big.

"No I didn't," Teresa defended herself. "But I did tell him he'd behaved inappropriately. I also told him – I didn't want to see him. He needs to know that he can't get away with acting like that. He needs to know there are consequences to his actions."

"You told him you didn't want to see him – for how long?" Rigsby wanted to know. "I mean – Jane does stupid things, but we're his only friends. At least I think we're his only friends. How did he – react?"

Lisbon sighed and leaned her head back against the backrest. The plane had taken off and would be landing soon. In the meantime her headache had grown worse. "I – I think he was upset," she said. "God, why was I so mean? I could have told him how I felt without telling him I didn't want to see him. Stan told me he thought there was something wrong with Jane - that maybe he'd been -" she stopped and bit her lips.

" He'd been what, boss?" Rigsby asked. "And Stan who? The parking lot guy?"

"Yes, that Stan. And he thought that – Jane might have been crying."

"Jane doesn't cry," Cho said.

"Yes he does," Grace said softly, sadly. "I've seen him."

"You've seen him cry?" Lisbon looked at her in surprise. She'd seen Jane uncomfortable, scared, hurt, embarrassed and many other emotions, but she'd never once seen him cry.

"Yes. But look – it was private and – I don't think I should have said anything. I just think he does a really good job at hiding his emotions, but underneath that there's a lot of pain."

Teresa closed her eyes, overwhelmed with regret and guilt. She new how much sadness Jane carried, that he had to live with a horrible tragedy. But he pretended so well that even she forgot sometimes. She thought back to her words to him and would have given anything, at that moment, to take them back. If anything happened to Jane because of her, she'd never forgive herself.

* * *

A few moments later they landed and her thoughts were taken up with all the details of getting to Jane's house. She'd worry about everything else later.

Jane woke to darkness and the distant sound of waves. Again he was disoriented, unsure where he was or why he was – wherever here was. He blinked a few times to determine if he could see, but then realized that wherever he was, it was dark.

He was slower to come to full awareness this time, and admitted that he was getting worse. His headache hadn't abated and he found it even harder to concentrate. Something must be seriously wrong.

A few seconds later things started to come back to him – the three crappy criminals: Ed, Zack and Charlie, being hit over the head, waking up in his house, ordering pizza and then watching two of the men fight. After that things grew a bit fuzzier although he remembered little bits of his escape.

He tasted a horrible taste in his mouth, which brought to mind the fact that he'd been sick. He hoped the evidence didn't give away his route.

It took him a few more seconds to remember where he'd gone and where he'd ended up. It was the smell of the place – the damp earth and salt water smell that told him he was in the cave – Charlotte's cave.

He felt a wave of sadness wash over him, but then tried to put everything out of his mind except how to survive. Hopefully whoever was after him – Zack, he thought – wouldn't find the cave and he'd be safe.

But then another problem came to him. What if he grew sicker and couldn't get out? Would he simply die here, only to have his body found years later by some kids exploring the cliffs? That would be a horrible end, although part of him thought that there would be no better place _for_ him to die. He at least would be surrounded by thoughts and memories of his daughter.

He wondered briefly why he hadn't picked this place to kill himself years ago – when he had desired death. But that idea immediately was rejected. How could he possibly defile this place with a cowardly act of suicide? No – this was a special place, in many ways a holy place, if there were such a thing. It had been filled with laughter and innocence and joy.

He took a deep breath, suddenly feeling more aware. Maybe his daughter's spirit lived in this place and was affecting him.

"You're crazy Patrick," he whispered to himself. He didn't even believe in spirits! But he admitted to himself – sometimes – that a tiny part of him did believe, or at least wanted to believe, that Charlotte and Angela were out there somewhere – happy and safe

Most of him, however, didn't. Most of him thought that they were gone, forever – ashes to ashes – and that only his memories would keep them alive.

"Well, that just means _you_ have to stay alive," he murmured. He finally decided he had to do something other than lie on his back, especially since rocks were sticking into him in various tender places.

It took a few minutes, but he finally managed to sit up, even though he continued to sway. His eyes had grown slightly accustomed to the dark – which was pierced by faint moonlight peering carefully into the cave.

He glanced around – and suddenly felt a swift jab to the heart. A old, dirty looking doll was lying in the corner – it's blanket beginning to rot in the sea air.

He closed his eyes and felt his throat constrict. It was Maddy – the doll he'd bought Charlotte when he'd gone away on a trip to Vegas to do a one-week psychic show. She had only been three at the time and had fallen in love with the doll. Right up until the time she'd died she'd slept with her and played with her.

He'd gone crazy looking for Maddy after Charlotte was killed. He'd sobbed when he couldn't find the doll – curled up in the corner of her room, devastated and horrified by the thought of burying his daughter without Maddy beside her.

He'd never thought about looking for her in their cave. He remembered now that Angela had told him that Charlotte had disappeared for almost an hour that morning - the morning of the day she'd died– and Angela had been scared to death. She'd given their daughter a severe talking to and a lengthy time out after the fact, but she hadn't told Jane where Charlotte had gone. He hadn't had time to get the details before he'd gone on the TV show which had spelled their deaths. Now looking at Maddy, he realized she must have sneaked away, without permission, to their cave.

And left her doll for her father to find years after her death.

He slowly made his way over to the doll and carefully picked it up. Although the blanket was rotting, the doll itself simply needed some cleaning. He hugged it and held it to his face, hoping he could smell one last hint of his daughter.

But all he smelled was mildew and dirt. There was nothing left of his little girl other than an old, plastic doll.

The tears slipped out of his eyes and he leaned against the rock wall, the doll clutched tightly in his hands.

"Teresa, where are you?" he whispered. He needed her to come and save him, not only from the cave and from danger – but from his memories.

* * *

Zack stubbed his toe against _another_ rock and swore. He was getting angrier with every step he took and every toe he bashed. Where the hell was Jane? He couldn't have made it too far, not in the shape he was in.

"Are you hiding Mr. Jane?" he hissed. It was what he'd done as a child – hidden away so his father couldn't find him and do _those_ things to him. He remembered trying to be perfectly still, to not make a sound so that the footsteps would go away and he'd be safe, at least until the next time his father wanted to play his perverted games.

Zack stopped and looked around carefully. Where could someone hide on a rocky beach? There was no place to go to the left of the path down the hill, it was simply another sharp cliff. So that left only one way, except straight out to the sea. Along the base of the cliff, with a narrow band of rocky beach, was the way Jane _must_ have travelled.

Suddenly a dark spot appeared in the cliff face up ahead about 50 feet. He grinned and began to stride forward. Jane must have hidden in that cave.

It didn't Zack long to get to the point he'd seen. The moon had come out from behind the few clouds and was now shining brightly, illuminating the whole beach. He could also clearly see the cave in the side of the cliff.

It was up about five feet off the ground, but low enough that it shouldn't have been a problem for even a man who was hurt. Zack hurried to the entrance, although he kept himself well out of the range of any attack which might come from within.

After a few minutes of silence he managed to peek his head into the cave. "Damn," he said silently. He couldn't see well enough to know whether or not Jane was there. He'd have to go in and check, secure in the knowledge that this is where Jane had to be.

He kept his gun at the ready, but managed to pull himself up into the mouth of the cave. He immediately noticed the smell. It was one of unuse and decay – a musty smell that he associated with a place unused by humans.

He eventually pulled himself up over the edge, a little apprehensive as to what was going to happen. When nothing did, he pulled himself in all the way -

\- only to find a completely empty cave. Okay, there were some branches and grass, left by nesting birds, but nothing else of interest or importance. And clearly, based on the smell and the rotting pile in front of him, no human had been here for a long time.

"Shit!" he cried, kicking the pile in front of him – which only resulted in a foul odor permiating the cave, which came from the rotting corpse of a dead seagull.

"You fuckin' _shit!_ " he cried. "I'm gonna kill you when I find you!"

Zack turned around and practically flung himself out of the cave – which only resulted in him tumbling to the ground and cracking his head on the rocks lining the cliff. He swore again and rubbed his head, positive there'd be a huge bump. If that's all he had to show for this trip he was gonna go back and kick Ed's ass!

He debated for a second whether to keep going, or to give up and head back to the house. Who knows, he thought, maybe Charlie had found Jane out front of the house. It would be just like him not to say anything, but to let Zack go huntin' around in the dark, practically killing himself.

As he was silently ranting to himself about the unfairness of it all, and the fact that everyone was out to get him, something caught his eye in the distance. He squinted, only to see another dark spot against the cliff.

He'd already walked past that point – it was back the way he'd come – and he hadn't seen anything, so it could have been an optical illusion. But he decided it was worth it to check it out. This time he was going to be careful not to disturb any piles of crap!

It took him a few minutes to get back to the anomaly he'd seen since the moon had once again gone behind a cloud and it was hard to see. He cursed the fact that there was no moonlight as the dark gave him the creeps.

"Well I'll be damned," he whistled when he arrived. There, in the side of the hill, was the opening to a cave – one that he'd completely missed on his journey out. Maybe this time he'd get lucky!

* * *

"Are we there yet?"

"You sound like a ten year old," Cho told Rigsby. "We'll be there when we get there."

"Yeah, well you sound like my father," Rigsby shot back. "6u7I'm worried, okay? I just want to have an idea of how long until we arrive at Jane's house. I've never been there before."

"It'll be another fifteen minutes," Lisbon said. She had insisted on driving and up until now had been quiet.

"What's it like," Grace asked softly. Teresa turned her head to look at the woman beside her.

"What's what like?"

"Jane's house," she said. "I – just can't imagine what kind of house he has. I mean – _Malibu_? Now he lives in an attic or a grungy motel. I can't picture him in an actual house."

"I've only seen it once," Teresa confessed. "It's empty – no furniture – but it's in a beautiful location. It overlooks the ocean."

"Wow! It must be worth a lot of money."

"Probably hard to sell," Cho added from the backseat. "People don't like to buy houses where people were murdered."

"Ooh – that's creepy!" Rigsby told him.

"Just tellin' the truth. Would _you_ want to buy that kind of a house?"

"I don't know," Wayne shrugged. "I'll never be able to afford a house in Malibu anyway, so it won't come up."

"There are houses in cheaper areas where people have been murdered," Cho pointed out. "They usually end up bull dozing them."

"What a waste!" Grace shook her head. "It's all so sad – a beautiful house, totally bare with only the memory of finding your wife and child murdered. I think he should get rid of it. Even if they tore the house down the property has to be worth a lot."

"I think he keeps it for a reason," Teresa said softly, speaking more to herself than to her colleagues.

"Really?" Grace asked. "Why?"

It was Cho who answered, rather than Lisbon. "I think it keeps him focused on his hunt for Red John. It's a reminder."

There was more silence but then Teresa sighed. "I think you're right," she agreed, although she didn't say anything about the face on the wall. They might end up seeing it, but if not it was something she'd keep private. Jane deserved that.

The GPS told her to turn and the next thing she knew they were on a residential street, although the houses were spaced far apart from one another. It was a beautiful area and she realized that what Grace had said was true. Jane's house – or the property – must be worth a lot. She briefly wondered how he afforded the taxes, but then she spotted a police car and pulled up behind it. They had arrived.


	6. Charlotte's Cave

"Daddy, wake up! Wake up, Daddy, please."

Jane grunted and tried to turn over. "Wanna sleep," he muttered.

"Daddy, _please_!"

"Daddy's … tired Charlotte," he whispered, his eyes still closed. He knew he should get up and play with his daughter, but he was just so exhausted. He couldn't remember the previous night, but he must have been out late to feel like this. He hoped Angela would come and get Charlotte. He needed to sleep.

"Please Daddy," his little girl sounded as if she was almost crying. His forehead crinkled in a frown and he took a deep breath – or at least tried to. A sharp pain ran through his side all the way to the back. Damn, what had he done to himself?

He finally managed to pry his eyes open and blinked two or three times. Why was it so dark? Surely Charlotte hadn't got up in the middle –

He took a sharp breath in – and the pain hit again. But it also brought him back to the present.

Charlotte wasn't here – hadn't been for years. She was dead and it had only been a dream. He felt that horrible, familiar stab in his chest, but this time it was emotional rather than physical. He much preferred the physical.

No, Charlotte was gone, and he was in their cave by the beach, running for his life from the three men who had kidnapped him. But why had he woken up so suddenly? He would like to have believed it really _was_ Charlotte – but his logical mind said it must have been something else.

* * *

As Zack returned along the beach he'd just recently traversed, he was feeling confident that he'd find Jane in the cave he'd passed earlier. If he hadn't turned around just when he did – when the moon was shining brightly, illuminating everything, he would have missed the dark entrance. He was positive that his prey had to know about it. It was right at the base of the hill where his house sat.

Zack approached quietly towards the cave, although he wasn't that worried. He was positive Jane didn't have a weapon and he was wounded, so he wasn't going to present much of a challenge.

He grinned, thinking about his encounter with the curly headed guy. What was stopping him from having some fun before he slit the guy open? No – maybe he'd have fun with him and slit him open at the same time. That would be highly erotic! He'd never done a snuff movie before, hell, he'd never done any kind of a movie, but he'd seen them and he'd gotten turned on by them! Why not do a live one of his own?

He finally arrived at the cave, stopped outside and listened. It had grown dark again, as clouds had moved to cover the moon and he could barely see. Nor could he hear anything over the sound of the waves behind him, but the Jane guy had to be here. There couldn't be any other place he could be hiding.

* * *

Jane suddenly heard a sound. If he hadn't been listening he would have missed it under the sound of the waves, which echoed throughout the cave. He was sure that what he had heard were footsteps approaching.

Whoever was after him must have found his hiding place. He felt the panic well up into his chest and his breathing quickened, becoming more shallow. He looked around and realized it had grown darker, which caused him to panic even more, at least until he grasped the fact that the moon must have gone behind a cloud. He closed his eyes briefly, hoping it would stay hidden. Although he was frightened it only took a few seconds to decide his chances were actually better in the dark. He had the advantage of knowing the cave – his pursuer didn't.

The footsteps drew closer, crunching on the sand and broken seashells which dotted the beach. He knew he had to move, had to stand. He was too vulnerable lying down so, as quietly and as quickly as he could, he forced himself to his feet and moved away from the cave entrance. He slid carefully to the left side of the cave and leaned against the wall. If he had been unable to brace himself he knew he would have ended up slipping back to the ground in an inglorious heap. He was still incredibly dizzy, and felt weak and disoriented. He knew, however, that he had to keep his wits about him if he were to survive this night.

It suddenly dawned on him that he had nothing with which to protect himself. It's not that he was particularly good with guns, and he hated knives, but right now he would have given anything to have _some_ kind of weapon.

The footsteps stopped, but he knew that whoever was there was now right outside the cave and he only had a few seconds to try and find something to defend himself.

He put his foot out and circled it around, without much hope that he would be – wait! There! His foot hit something and he hooked the toe of his shoe around it and pulled it forward. It was difficult, but he was able to reach down and grab whatever it was. It turned out to be a rock – a rock that was only about the size of an orange and one that certainly wasn't very formidable as far as a weapon was concerned, but it would have to do. It was certainly better than nothing.

It was only as he picked up the rock that it dawned on him that he was still clutching Charlotte's doll. He knew he should put it down, but for some reason he couldn't bear to do that. It was a connection to her – and right now that was about all he had with him in this cave. At least if he died here, he would die with his daughter in his heart and mind.

* * *

" _Hello Ms. Jane,"_ Zack called. Yup, he was gonna have fun. At the last minute he pocketed his gun and instead grabbed the switchblade in his pocket. That way there would be no chance of ricochets – and he much preferred gutting to shooting.

He called again, and then he stepped into the cave's entrance.

Damn! It would have to be Zack, the unstable and probably most vicious of the three, Jane realized. He could feel his heart speed up once more, and he had to concentrate on not giving away his position through his breathing, which had turned into panting because of fear. He pulled out all his biofeedback techniques to prohibit a full case panic attack.

"I know you're there, Missy Jane," the voice continued. "How about you and I have some fun together before I kill you? You're so pretty – I'm gonna enjoy playin' with you!"

Jane stopped breathing when he heard the louder crunch of shoes on pebbles as Zack entered the cave. By now his eyes had grown somewhat accustomed to the dark, and he could see the faint outline of a leg as it appeared.

Patrick took a deep, shaky, but thankfully silent breath, and waited for Zack to get closer. The man was being careful and was moving slowly. He probably couldn't see anything, especially after coming in from outside where there was more light. At least Patrick hoped that was the case.

Zack stopped, probably in order to listen for any sound. Patrick froze and held his breath, knowing the next few seconds could change – or end – his life. Nothing happened for what seemed like hours, although it couldn't have been more than a handful of seconds. The next moment Zack took a step forward, and then another and another until he stepped directly in front of Jane. Fortunately he wasn't facing his quarry but was facing towards the back of the cave. Jane was on his left side, still leaning against the wall and waiting for his moment.

Jane took in one deep lungful of air at the same time as he lifted his arm. Then, with all the strength that was left in him, he stepped forward and quickly brought his hand down – the hand that was tightly gripping the small rock.

Something – a hiss of sound, a flash of movement –alerted Zack so that he turned at just the moment the rock would have connected with his skull.

It ended up grazing him in the face, hitting his nose and then lip. He let out a sharp cry, stumbled back but then almost immediately righted himself.

"You fuckin' bastard! I'm gonna kill you," he shouted.

* * *

"Teresa Lisbon, CBI," she said, holding out her badge to the officer on duty. "These are my team mates, agents Cho, Rigsby and Van Pelt. Have you seen or heard anything?"

"No, just the one guy who was moving around out front a while ago. He eventually went back in the house and we haven't seen anything since then. We know someone went upstairs because the lights went on, but that was a while ago too. Do we know what we're looking for?" Officer Szabo asked, his eyes continually moving towards Grace, who was ignoring him completely and watching the house.

"We're not sure," Teresa replied. "We suspect someone may be holding Patrick Jane hostage – he's a consultant with our team and we've been unable to reach him."

"So the guy who answered the door earlier, that wasn't him?"

"We don't think so," Grace answered.

"But why would they bring him here?" the officer frowned, looking towards the house.

"It's his house," Cho answered shortly as he moved behind Lisbon.

"Really? He lives in Malibu and he's a consultant with the CBI? Must be nice to have so much money you can play at being a cop."

"He's not playing," Lisbon snapped. "He's a valuable member of my team and he's in trouble. Now, let's figure out how to get him out of there!"

* * *

Jane knew he'd probably lost his one and only chance, but there was no way in hell he was going to just lie down and die. Without allowing himself to think about what he was doing, he rushed towards Zack as soon as the other man fell back. He didn't see the knife the other man was holding, nor did he think about what, exactly, he was going to do. He also forgot about the doll, which was still clutched tightly in his left hand.

Zack saw his prey rushing towards him and grinned. He lifted the knife – figuring he would disable Jane and then have some fun with him before he killed him. At that precise moment something caught Zack's eye and he glanced to the left.

"Aargh!" he screamed as a horrible apparition appeared in front of him. It looked as if it was reaching for him so he instinctively slashed at it with his knife. He felt it hit something – once, twice, three times – but still the apparition kept moving towards him. He screamed again and covered his face with his hands, terrified and completely forgetting the knife still clutched in his hand.

Jane felt something hit Charlotte's doll, but before he could figure out what it was, he felt a sharp burning on his bicep and then down his left side. He gasped and stepped back, but then was halted by Zack's screaming.

Patrick's brain still wasn't functioning properly, so he couldn't figure out what was going on. He did know, however, that suddenly he had a second chance. The rock was still clutched in his hand and he swiftly – as swiftly as he could when about ready to collapse – flew forward. This time he didn't miss and the rock connected sharply with the side of Zack's head. The other man collapsed without a sound.

Jane stood, swaying and looking down at his tormentor, by this time so exhausted and sick it took him many seconds before it dawned on him that the other man was unconscious. It also meant he had the opportunity to escape.

It was only as he took a stumbling step forward that he realized something. His arm and side were burning ferociously. He glanced curiously at his arm, blinking and trying to clear his eyes when he saw something strange.

"Oh," he finally spoke. "Blood." For some reason, which he couldn't fathom at present, his arm was covered in the substance. He looked at it in wonder, confused and unable to figure out what all of this meant. A few seconds later he looked down at his shirt and frowned. It looked wet, and something was dripping on the floor of the cave with a steady rhythm.

It was only at that moment that he realized he still held on to Mindy, Charlotte's doll. He squinted at her, noticing that something was wrong. He slowly held her to his face – a sharp pain surprising him and making his breath hitch. He suddenly found it hard to breathe and his head began spinning. He lost his balance and fell to his knees, barely noticing the pain – knowing only that Mindy had a slash across her throat – just like Charlotte. It was the last thought he had.

* * *

Teresa looked at her watch. It was 2:30 in the morning but the lights in Jane's house were still on. The Malibu police had sent two more cars and the officers were talking to Cho and Rigsby. Grace stood silently by her side.

"What should we do boss?" Grace asked suddenly. "What if he's hurt or –"

"He'll be okay," Lisbon said sharply, refusing to believe anything else. "It'll end up being some stupid mistake and he'll be fine – wondering what we're doing here. I just -" she stopped and bit her lip. She sucked in a deep breath and turned to the group who were still discussing next steps.

"Is there a way to get to the back of Jane's house?" Lisbon asked. "They'll see us coming from the front."

Officer Davis, a long-term native of the area, stepped up. "There's a sharp cliff behind the house, but there used to be a trail down it to the beach. About half a mile that way," he pointed, "there's another trail down. We could go there and circle back on the beach and then up to the back of the house."

"You're not sure if the trail is still there?" Cho wanted to know.

Davis shrugged. "I don't see why it wouldn't be. These houses along here all have beach access. That's why these people live here."

"Okay," Teresa nodded. Now that she had something to do she was all business. "Cho, you and Rigsby head down that way and circle back. Let me know when you're in position by the house."

"Will do Boss," Rigsby told her. Cho just nodded, but almost immediately the two men were off.

"What about us?" Grace wanted to know.

"You and the officers here are going to surround the house."

"And what about you?" Grace frowned. After a pause she began to shake her head. "No way Boss – you can't."

"I have to Grace. Jane may be in there – afraid, hurt. We can't just stay here and do nothing."

"But you're gonna go up there, aren't you? You could get hurt."

"Why would they hurt me?" Teresa asked. "I'll simply pretend to be his girlfriend or something. They're not going to just shoot me."

"You don't think they'll be suspicious about you showing up after 2:00 in the morning?"

"Hey – I was out late partying or something. Okay fine, why don't we do this? Both of us drive up to his house, but you'll stay in the car with it running. I'll go to the door and say we're looking for Jane – to take him out partying or something. They're not going to suspect us and I'll be able to get a look inside. It'll be fine Grace."

"I still don't like it."

A few minutes later both of the women got in Lisbon's car, which was parked down the street, and drove into Jane's yard. With a quick "I'll be fine," Teresa got out of the car and headed for the front door.

It took a few seconds before anyone answered the door. As soon as Teresa saw the man standing there – a guy in his early thirties, with tattooed arms, a buzz cut, and the smell of beer, she knew Jane was definitely in trouble.


	7. In the Moonlight

Consciousness came back quickly to Jane although he was groggy and disoriented. He forced himself to try and sit up, even though weak and in pain. He couldn't figure out what had happened, or why he hurt, but he knew it must be something bad.

It was dark although a shaft of light came into – wherever he was. He felt something in his hand and looked down, to see a small shape, which he eventually recognized that it was a doll. He stared at it and slowly things started to come back to him. A sudden sound – and the realization that there was someone else with him – brought him back to the present.

He knew he was still in danger. If Zack woke up there was no doubt in his mind that he would be no match for the other man. There was something wrong with him and he knew he wouldn't win any kind of fight, even though he didn't know how badly the other man was hurt.

Not wanting to do it, Jane knew he had no choice so he reached around with his hand until he found his trusty rock. Pushing himself to his knees, he leaned over and, this time, using both hands, brought the rock down hard on Zack's head. The resulting sound sickened him, but he knew this was a matter of life and death – _his_ life and death. The faint movements and sounds Zack had been making ceased and he was totally still.

He had to get out of the cave. He could pass out at any moment and either Zack would wake up and kill him, or if he'd already killed Zack, the two of them would perish here together. It was possible no one would come to the cave for months – or even years. The fact that Charlotte's doll was still here showed how long it had been since someone had ventured inside.

It took longer than he would have liked, and by the end of it he was nauseous and ready to collapse, but he managed to get to his feet and stumble to the entrance. Swallowing he bile that had risen in his throat, he held on tightly to the wall and pushed his way outside into the night air.

At which point he immediately fell to his knees, although this time the sand cushioned the fall. Even with the softer landing his head felt as if it was about to explode and his arm and side throbbed. He was finding it hard to catch his breath and knew he was in deep trouble.

He needed to find Lisbon. Lisbon would help him. Lisbon would save him. She always did and he could trust her. All he had to do was get to the street and she'd find him, he was sure of it.

He again forced himself to his feet and stumbled forward, lurching and weaving his way down the beach. He fell a number of times, but always managed to get back up, the knowledge that Lisbon would be there at the end keeping him going.

* * *

"Ouch!" Rigsby stumbled down the hill, falling and scraping his hand. "Damn this is steep."

"It's not that bad," Cho said calmly. "Just watch where you're stepping."

"It's dark and I'm not wearing the right shoes for hiking!"

"Quit complaining," his fellow agent and friend said. "We'll be down soon."

"I know – it's just – what do you think has happened to Jane?"

"I don't know. It doesn't look good."

"You think?" Rigsby looked at him worriedly. "You think they've – uh – you think maybe he's dead?"

"Maybe," Cho shrugged. "I don't know. I hope not."

"Jane seems to get himself into a lot of trouble."

"Yeah," Cho agreed. He was silent for a moment. "Some of it's deserved, but most of it -" he shrugged, although there was a measure of sympathy in his eyes.

"Yeah, I know," Rigsby said. "Damn, I hope he's okay."

"He won't be if we don't hurry up. Come on – I see the beach. We're almost there."

* * *

"Who are you?" the man asked, looking Lisbon up and down suspiciously.

"Hi," she grinned. "My name's Teresa. I'm here to see Patrick – I'm his girlfriend." She looked over the guy's shoulder. " _Patrick_ " she called. "Where is he? I told my friend Grace I'd come and get him and we'd go dancing. He's a great dancer. _Patrick_ ," she called again. She looked back at the man in the door. "Hey, who're you? A friend from Patrick's work?"

"I'm Ed," the guy said shortly, still looking at her suspiciously. "He invited me over to watch the game with a couple of other guys. Uh, I don't think he expected to see his girlfriend tonight. In fact, he didn't mention he _had_ a girlfriend."

Teresa rolled her eyes. "He's such a bad boy! We've been dating for _weeks._ Hey – where is he?"

"He's sleeping," the man said. "He had too much to drink and passed out and we put him to bed. I'll tell him you stopped by and he'll give you a call." He went to shut the door but Teresa put her foot out.

"Poor baby. He needs me to look after him." She stood there looking at "Ed" but he didn't budge. Her eyebrows went up. "Are you gonna let me in?"

"Patrick didn't say anything about a girlfriend. When he's awake I'll ask him, but until then, no, you can't come in. I suggest you and your friend," he nodded towards the car, "go dancing on your own."

"Fine!" Teresa rolled her eyes. "But I'm gonna tell him about you and he's not going to be happy."

Ed shrugged and shut the door – not abruptly enough to have slammed it in her face, but deliberately enough to let her know she wasn't wanted.

Teresa stood there for a moment and then slowly headed back to the car. She tried to keep her eye on the house and could definitely see someone watching her through the window.

"What're we gonna do?" hissed Charlie. Ed was peering out of the window, watching Jane's girlfriend head to the car. "She's gonna be back to check up on Jane. We can't stay here."

"I _know_ ," Ed replied sharply. "Where the fuck is Zack? He left almost an hour ago. We need to find him and get rid of Jane and get out of here."

"Why did you even bring him in on this? He's been nothing but trouble. Because of him we're wanted for murder!"

"Shuck the fuck up! It was my decision and we're not gonna talk about it now. We need to find him and get out of here."

"I say we leave him," Charlie said, more calmly. "Let Zack deal with Jane and you and I can get out of here. He'll go down for two murders, the guy at the bank and Jane, and you and I can get away."

Ed was clearly trying to figure out what to do. Although he'd never admit it, things had definitely started to go wrong the moment he'd brought Zack into the picture. He didn't know why he'd done it – except maybe for the fact that the kid reminded him a bit of his own younger brother – the brother who had been killed in a gang fight when he was 17.

Ed put his hand through his hair and turned to Charlie. "If the cops get Zack you know he's gonna spill everything. He'll make a plea deal in a second to get off from the murder charges. We can't leave him here."

"So what?"

"So, we find him and kill him along with Jane and _then_ we get outta here."

Charlie felt sick. He hadn't wanted any of this. All he'd wanted was some cash so he could go away by himself somewhere – a small cabin out in the woods where he could fish and be away from people. Now he was wanted for murder – and he was about to commit two more.

"Where could they be?"

"I don't know, but we've gotta find out. Come on – let's go." Ed walked to the front door and went to open it – but first he looked out of the side window. "What the -"

"What is it?" Charlie hurried over until Ed put his hand up to stop him. "What's wrong?"

"I thought I saw something through the trees. I think there's someone out there."

"Maybe Jane's girlfriend is still there."

"Yeah," Ed pondered for a moment. "If she _was_ his girlfriend." At that moment he made up his mind. "We gotta get outta here. I don't like this. Come on – we'll go through the back door."

"But there's nothin' out there. I mean – there's a cliff and then the ocean."

"There might be a way down. These rich folks would've wanted a way to get to the beach."

"Maybe that's where Zach has gone. He could have gotten away already."

"Yeah, that would be like him. Grab your stuff and let's go."

* * *

"Boss, I just got a radio message from the Malibu police," Grace told Teresa as they drove back down the driveway and to the street. "There was a bank robbery today in Calabasas. A security guard was shot and killed but the three robbers got away. The last they were seen they were headed towards the coast. Do you think these could be the guys?"

"Oh God! Probably. Was there a description of any of them?"

"Not really – average height, average build. They wore masks. One of the guys did have a tattoo of an eagle on his hand, but that's all they know."

"Crap!" Teresa said, rubbing her eyes. "The guy that answered the door had a tattoo on his hand and all over his arms and neck. I think the one on his hand was an eagle. It must be them.

"Did you see any evidence of Jane?" Grace asked in concern.

"No, nothing. I thought I saw one other person in the house, but the third guy could have been in another room. Grace, you go tell the cops to keep watching and make sure no one gets away."

"What are you going to do?" Grace looked worriedly at Teresa. "You can't go in there alone."

"I'm just going to make my way around back and see if I can see anything. I'll let you know what I find. I don't think we have very much time. I have a feeling that Ed was suspicious and they may try and make a break for it. Now go and talk to the cops and tell them to watch for anyone trying to escape. I'll be in touch." With that Teresa stepped out of the car and carefully made her way back and then into the trees that surrounded Jane's house.

She quickly made her way around to the back, until she came upon the guesthouse. She'd known it was there, but had never seen inside it. For a second she wondered if someone – Jane maybe – could be there, so she made her way to the side of the building and looked inside.

It was dark and everything was shrouded in dust covers. She shivered – it had an eerie, almost haunted look to it. She wondered briefly what it had been used for when Jane and his family lived here.

Certain that no one was inside the guesthouse, she made her way to the back of the main house and peeked inside. She could see shadows and then, suddenly, a man appeared. He wasn't the same one who had answered the door but was younger. He was speaking to someone and looked agitated. A moment later Ed appeared and the two men looked as if they were arguing.

Their conversation didn't last long and then both of them moved away and she could see them gathering their things. It looked as if they were planning on leaving. Checking her surroundings, she melted back into the trees, her eyes on the back door.

"Grace," she whispered into her radio. "I saw two men – Ed and one other. It looks as if they're planning on leaving. Tell the cops to watch out. I'm hidden in the trees in the back and will keep an eye on them in case they come this way."

"Be careful boss," Grace told her. "Did you see the third guy? Do you need back-up?"

"No, I just saw two of them. And I'm fine for now, but stay in contact." She turned off the radio just as the back door opened and the two men she had seen quickly exited. Teresa stood frozen, hoping that neither of them would look her way as they began moving in the direction of the water.

"They're heading towards the ocean. They might know about the trail down to the beach. Still no sign of the third guy or of Jane. I'm going to follow so can you and the Malibu police check out the house. Jane could still be in there. And let Cho and Rigsby know that two of the suspects may be headed their way."

Teresa waited a couple of seconds more and then began to follow in the direction the two men had gone. She had no idea where the path to the beach started and hoped she didn't come on the men in the dark. Her gun was drawn, just in case.

Her thoughts went back to the house and she prayed that Grace or the others wouldn't find Jane's body there. It could be that he'd already been killed, although why they would have done that, she had no idea. She briefly wondered how they had come across Jane in the first place. She couldn't imagine them just showing up at his house, unless they had known that it was vacant. It could have just been Jane's bad luck to come back to his house tonight.

She heard a branch snap and stopped, holding her breath and waiting for another sound or movement. Someone swore softly – and she was sure it was one of the robbers. She waited a few more seconds until she heard another noise and the sound of the two men walking through the trees.

"Here it is," one of the men whispered. "Come on – we can get down to the beach and head up the coast."

"To where?" the other voice hissed. "We don't have a car and we don't have a clue where we are."

"We know where we are and we can grab a car. We have time. Jane's girlfriend won't do anything until she checks up on him again in the morning and by then we'll be long gone."

"How do you know she'll wait," the other voice asked angrily. "She could be calling the cops even now."

"Shut up Charlie! Just get your ass down the path to the beach. If she _has_ called the cops then we don't have a lot of time. Now move!"

The sound had travelled clearly to Teresa, so she waited a few minutes before moving – worried that the two men would hear her. Once their steps faded she clicked her radio.

"Any word Grace?" she asked softly.

"There's no one here, boss," Grace answered, equally as softly. "But someone was hurt – there's blood here, and some stained cloths. It also looks like someone vomited."

"But no sign of Jane?" she asked carefully.

"No, nothing. What do you want me to do? Where are you?"

"I'm about to head after the two men. They've headed down the trail to the beach. Let Cho and Rigsby know they're coming down. I'm gonna follow them. Send a couple of officers after me, but tell them to be quiet. I don't wanna spook these guys."

"Will do boss." Grace signed off and Teresa began to walk. It didn't take her long to find the trail – the moon had come out from behind the clouds and the entire side of the cliff was illuminated. She looked up, the sight of the full moon shining on the ocean was beautiful. She just wished that she was here simply enjoying the evening, rather than trying to find her friend, and worrying that he was hurt or dead.

She walked carefully, not wanting to make any noise as she walked. Every once in a while she heard a sound from up ahead. The men were still there, although they had stopped talking. She hoped that Rigsby and Cho were going to get here soon. She really didn't want to take the two men on by herself.

Ed and Charlie finally reached the bottom of the cliff. Like Zack before them, they looked both left and right and soon discovered that there really was only one way to go. The two men turned right and started walking down the beach.

* * *

Jane stumbled and fell once again. Each time he fell, it was harder and harder to get to his feet. He was weak and dizzy and everything hurt. He was also losing the ability to see clearly. He didn't know if it was just really dark, or if his eyes were starting to go.

He no longer could remember why he had to move, or where he was going, all he knew was he had to find Teresa. His hand continued to clutch Charlotte's doll, and he also knew he couldn't let it go. For some reason he understood it was important, even though he was aware enough to know that Charlotte herself was gone.

He tried to push himself up, but collapsed back down. "No," he murmured. "Teresa, help me." He tried once more and this time got to his knees, his body swaying in the chilly, damp sea air.

He couldn't go any farther. He didn't have the strength to get to his feet. He finally admitted to himself that he was done, finished. Teresa wasn't coming and he was so tired.

He left out a slow and shaky breath and allowed himself to collapse back onto the sand, the doll clasped to his chest. His eyes slowly began to close.

* * *

"What's that," Charlie pointed at a dark mound on the beach ahead.

"I don't know – a rock or something," Ed snapped. He was cold and scared and wishing he'd never met up with Charlie or Zack. He needed to get out of here and find somewhere safe to hole up.

"I don't think it's a rock," Charlie said, stopping and looking carefully. "I think it's an animal or something."

"An _animal_? On the beach?"

"Well, maybe it's a seal or shark or something."

"Who cares what it is. We need to -" Ed stopped suddenly. "Wait – that's no seal," he said softly. "I think that's a body."

"Really? You think it could be Zack – or maybe Jane?"

"It might be. Come on, let's check it out." Ed pulled his gun and started walking quickly forward. Charlie followed, his weapon drawn as well.

* * *

"There's something up there," Rigsby pointed. "It's darker than the surrounding cliff."

"Could be another cave," Cho suggested. He was tired and his shoes were full of sand. He hoped that found Jane soon, because he'd had enough of beachcombing.

"Yeah, I think it might be. Maybe this time we'll have some luck and find something."

"Like what? Buried treasure?"

"I was hoping we'd find Jane," Rigsby answered seriously.

Cho stopped and sighed. "Yeah – sorry. I want to find him as well. I'm just worried it's too late."

"Don' t say that. Jane is tough – and tricky. He knows how to get out of tough situations."

"I hope so," Cho muttered.

The two men arrived at the cave and drew their guns. Standing carefully on each side of the entrance they spoke to each other through hand signals. Finally Rigsby moved into the cave, followed almost immediately by Cho.

"There's someone here," Wayne said after a moment. He shone the flashlight down on the body of a man lying in the middle of the cave. "It's not Jane," he said in relief.

"Is he dead?" Cho asked, carefully checking out the rest of the cave.

Wayne squatted down and felt for the man's pulse. He was silent for a few seconds and then, "he's alive but his pulse is thready. We'd better call for help."

"Look at his hand," Cho nodded towards the man's hand, which was clenched around a knife. He shone the light on it and it glistened red.

"Blood," Wayne said soberly. "But there's no one else here."

Cho walked over to the door, his flashlight shining on the floor of the cave. "There's more blood," he said. "Someone was injured but they got away. Call for back-up and for the paramedics. I'll go see if I can find who belongs to this blood."

"You think it was Jane?"

"Maybe." With that Cho left he cave and began to follow the drops of blood.

* * *

"It's Jane," Charlie said as they drew near the body. "Is he dead?"

"No, he's still breathing but he doesn't look like he'll last much longer. Looks like he's been stabbed."

"Must have been Zack," Charlie answered. "He always preferred a knife to a gun."

"Yeah, but where is he?" Ed stood up and stared down at the injured man.

"I don't know," Charlie answered. "Hey, what's he holding? It almost looks – God, it's a kid!"

Ed squatted down once more and gently pulled the object from Jane's arms. "No, it's a doll."

"A _doll_? What the hell is he doing with a doll? Come on man – let's get out of here. I don't like this. Something weird is going on."

Ed stood slowly, the doll still in his hands. He regarded the fallen man for a moment and then threw the doll down beside him.

He pointed his pistol at the unconscious man in front of him, but just stood there staring.

"Come on – why don't you do it?" Charlie asked, sounding freaked out. "Let's get out of here!"

Ed's arm relaxed and it dropped to his side.

"What's wrong? I thought you were going to kill him?" Charlie hissed, clearly terrified by all that was going on.

"Too noisy," Ed answered calmly. "I think Zack had the right idea. Do you have a knife?"

"A knife? What – oh God, you're gonna slit his throat!"

Ed shrugged. "Just as quick as a bullet and a lot quieter. Now do you have one or not?"

"I – God, I don't want -"

"Unless you want to die here too I suggest you shut up. Now _do you have a knife_?"

"Yes," Charlie finally answered. He slowly reached into his pocket and pulled out a lethal looking switchblade.

"Why, aren't you a man of hidden talents," Ed said. "Now give it to me." He reached out his hand and took the knife. With a flick of the switch it opened, to show a long and treacherous looking blade. "I'm sorry Mr. Jane," he said softly. "But you were just in the wrong place at the wrong time." Ed slowly sunk to his knees on the beach, and grabbed Jane's hair and pulled his head back. Charlie turned his head away, unable to watch.

Jane felt awareness beginning to return, and groaned. He tried to move his head, but couldn't, so forced his eyes open, only to look into the face of Ed, the king of the kidnappers.

Ed blinked, looking surprised. But then he slowly smiled and held up his hand with the razor sharp blade. "Sorry you had to wake up Mr. Jane."

Jane looked in horror as the blade glistened in the moonlight, it's evil face made almost alive by the cool, platinum light. His hand reached out aimlessly, until it came in contact with Charlotte's doll. He grabbed it and pulled it to him, almost as if it would protect him from what was to come. He closed his eyes, his last thought that he was about to die the same way as his wife and daughter.


	8. Found

Teresa could see the faint outlines of the two men she'd been following ahead of her on the beach. One was standing, the other was kneeling on the sand and it looked as if he had something in his hand. She moved a little faster, and squinted to see what it was he was holding.

"What the hell!" she murmured as the moonlight fell on a mop of golden hair. The next moment she saw a flash of light shining on metal and quickly realized that something bad was about to happen. She began to run as fast as she could.

"Hey!" she shouted. "CBI – put your hands in the air!"

Charlie swung around, saw someone rushing at them and began to run in the opposite direction. Ed also turned towards the shout, his hand still threaded through Patrick's hair. He reacted slightly more calmly. "Don't come any closer!" he shouted, "or I'll slit his throat!"

Lisbon slowed and then stopped, her gun still drawn and pointed directly at the person with Jane. She could see clearly now – the moon was shining brightly, illuminating everything on the beach. What she saw was the man who had answered the door – Ed – and he was holding Patrick by his hair, and in the other hand he held a knife – a knife pointed directly at Jane's neck. The second man continued to run frantically away from them.

"You don't want to do that," Lisbon called out calmly, although her heart was beating furiously. "If you harm him I'll shoot you."

"NO! Put your gun down," Ed screamed, pulling Jane towards him and pressing the knife to his neck. "I'll kill him unless you put the gun down."

"Why would I do that?" Teresa asked reasonably. "If I do, you'll just kill him anyway. What I suggest you do is put the knife down and let him go. You don't want to add murder to the other charges you already have piling up."

"I'm not going to jail," Ed hissed, the knife still at Jane's throat. "I'd rather die!"

"Really? Well, in that case I'll make sure to _not_ kill you – but I could take out a knee and cripple you. That'll make it tougher for you in prison. Come on – there's no point hurting him so just let him go. It'll go much easier for you."

Cho saw a figure running towards him long before the man saw him. In fact the guy was almost on top of him before he knew there was someone else on the beach. When he saw Cho, Charlie let out a short scream and then fell to the ground, his arms held over his head.

"Don't kill me, please don't kill me. I didn't hurt anyone. It was Zack – he killed the guard. I didn't do anything. And Ed – he's gonna kill the other guy. Please, I didn't do anything!"

Cho calmly walked up to the terrified man and pulled his arms behind his back and cuffed him. "You're under arrest," he said, quickly giving him his rights. "Come on," Cho said, pulling him up and leading him back to the cave where Rigsby was waiting for the paramedics.

"Who's this?" the tall agent asked when Cho appeared with a blubbering man in handcuffs.

"Don't know but he's part of this whole thing. Hold on to him. And give me your cuffs – I made need them and I've already used mine. I'm going to go back and see if I can find Jane or Lisbon."

"Ed's gonna kill him," Charlie cried. "Please, it wasn't my fault."

Cho glanced at Rigsby, both of them looking worried. After a quick look of disgust at the sobbing man Cho then hurried back out to the beach. He started to jog and then run when he saw the faint outline of figures ahead. Only when he was close enough to hear Lisbon's voice did he stop.

"Come on Ed," Teresa said softly. "You don't want to hurt him. It'll only make things worse. Just let him go." They'd been standing at an impasse for quite a few minutes. Ed's hand was starting to shake and Teresa was afraid he was about to break.

Ed knew he was in trouble and he was terrified of the position he found himself in, and angry at the unfairness of it all. This was supposed to have been an easy job, an easy way to make some cash. Instead he could feel his life falling apart around him.

He slowly loosened his grip on Jane's hair and his hand with the knife relaxed. He began to pull the knife away, still not sure what to do.

"That's it Ed, you're making the right decision. Now put the knife down and let him go." Teresa continued to speak calmly, although she was surprised her voice didn't shake with fear.

Ed glanced down at the unconscious man and suddenly found himself full of rage. Why should he let this guy go? Why should he be so lucky when Ed's life was ruined? With a strangled roar he pulled back Jane's head and lifted his knife. He was going to end things his way. They'd shoot him – but he'd go out with a bang, not spend the rest of his life in prison.

A shot rang out and Ed's eyes went wide – he looked at Teresa in shock. And then, slowly – his hand relaxed and the knife dropped to the sand. A moment later the life drained from his eyes, his hand fell from Jane's hair and he slipped to the ground – dead.

Jane fell over as soon as Ed had let him go, and now lay under the body of the man who had been so close to killing him.

"Cho, thank God?" Lisbon rushed forward and frantically pulled the body off of Jane.

Cho helped her, making sure that Ed was not going to present any more danger. When he was sure he turned to Lisbon. "Jane? Is he okay?"

"I don't know," Teresa answered. "Oh God Jane, be alive." She held out a trembling hand and pressed his neck with her fingers. She breathed out noisily. "I've got a pulse, but it's weak. He's alive, Cho, but we need to call for help, quick."

"I'll call right away and tell them we have a man down. Rigsby's already called for the paramedics, but I'll tell them we need more here." Cho spoke into his radio for a few moments and then turned back to Lisbon, who was frantically trying to tell how badly hurt Jane was.

"What?" Teresa looked up at Cho, her face looking pale and bruised in the silver light cast by the moon. "Why did he call for the paramedics."

"It looks like Jane took one of them out," Cho gestured back up the beach with his head. "And the other guy practically ran right into me. I arrested him. How's he doing?" Cho came over and squatted down beside Teresa.

"I don't know," she said, trying to discover what was wrong with Patrick with only moonlight to aid in her examination. "There's blood, but I don't know where it's coming from."

"Yeah, the guy we found in the cave ahead had a bloody knife. He must have stabbed Jane with it."

"Damn! I can't see properly." She could feel dampness on Jane's front but couldn't tell how bad his wounds were. "Jane, can you hear me?" There was silence and she again tried to locate where the blood was coming from and what all was wrong with her friend and colleague.

"Aaagh," a soft groan could be heard and Teresa stopped her examination.

"Jane?"

He groaned again and his head began to move. "Aaagh," he said once more, sounding groggy and in pain. Finally his eyes opened slightly but they looked unfocused and only partly aware. "Lisbon?" he sighed, so quietly she could barely hear.

"I'm here Jane," she answered.

"Lisbon?"

"Yes, I'm here. You're gonna be alright. Just hold on."

There was a few seconds more of silence and then he spoke again. "You – came," he sighed.

"Of course," she laughed, although the underlying tears were evident. "You think I'm going to let you have all the fun!"

"Sssorry," he whispered, his eyes beginning to close.

"Why are you sorry?" she asked, holding his hand tightly and looking frantically at Cho. "Jane, why are you sorry?"

"Hmmm?" he murmured, almost unconscious again. "Charlotte?"

"What?" Teresa looked at Cho in confusion. He answered with a shrug.

"Sssorry," Jane muttered, his eyes closed now.

"Oh God Jane! _I'm_ the one who's sorry. I didn't mean to be so awful to you and I _definitely_ didn't mean for you to really go away. I was – just a little irritated. Next time just ignore me, okay?"

He tried to open his eyes, but couldn't manage against the 100 pound weights which were holding them down. "Kay," he finally managed to get out although he wasn't sure what he was agreeing to. His mind felt so fuzzy. "Charlotte?" He reached out his hand as if looking for something.

"What is it Jane? What do you want?"

" _Charlotte_?" he said, sounding almost frantic. His hand kept searching the sand beside him.

"Maybe he wants this?" Cho said gently, reaching down and picking up the doll.

"A doll? Why would he – oh God, you think it was his daughter's?"

"Could be," Cho answered, setting it down gently beside Jane's searching hand. As soon as the injured man touched it he grabbed it and pulled it to his chest. A second later he lapsed into unconsciousness.

"It was probably in his house. I can't see how else he would have gotten it."

Teresa reached out and gently moved a curl off of Jane's forehead. She wanted to hold him and offer him comfort – both for the physical wounds, but even more for the emotional ones she knew he still suffered. Seeing him clutch an old, dirty doll – that must have belonged to his dead daughter – caused her heart to hurt for him.

"When are those damned paramedics going to get here?" Teresa asked angrily. "We need them _now_."

As if in answer to a prayer, she could see lights coming towards them from up ahead. A few seconds later a four-wheel drive jeep drove up and two men got out.

"Is someone down?" one of them called.

"Yes, he's right here. Please hurry. He's bleeding and unconscious." Teresa stepped back when the paramedics arrived, their equipment placed carefully down beside the fallen man.

It didn't take long for them to have Patrick hooked up to monitors and an IV. They'd discovered two wounds – one on his upper left arm and one long wound radiating from beneath his left nipple diagonally across his stomach to over his right hip bone. It had bled profusely, although the paramedics didn't believe any of his organs had been damaged.

They loaded Jane onto a stretcher and then into the back of the specially equipped jeep. Teresa followed, clutching the doll, while Cho went to help Rigsby. The paramedics assured him that another emergency vehicle was on the way, along with the Malibu police.

The entire way to the hospital the paramedic in back with Jane monitored his vital signs and checking his pupils every few minutes, making Teresa ask what was wrong.

"His pupils aren't responding equally," the paramedic told her. "Could be a sign of a head injury. I just need to monitor it closely. Did he say anything when you found him?"

"A few words," she answered.

"Was he coherent?"

"Not really. He did seem to recognize me, but his words were slurred and he appeared confused."

"Mmm," the paramedic again checked Jane's eyes. "I think you'd better hurry," he called to the driver."

"Is he in danger?" Teresa asked, her eyes growing big with fear.

"Head injuries are never anything to play around with," he said. "The sooner he get's treatment the better. For now he's holding his own, though, so hopefully it's not too bad."

Five minutes later they pulled up to the emergency wing of the hospital. Before Teresa knew what was happening, the rear door of the jeep had opened and people were pulling out the gurney. She followed quickly, but soon Jane was taken into the trauma center and she was asked to stay outside in the waiting room. She was still holding Jane's doll in her hand.

She gave all the information she had to the nurse at the desk, telling her that Jane had insurance but that she didn't have the information on her but could get it as soon as the CBI office opened. After she'd given all the details she was able, she returned to the waiting area and collapsed into a hard plastic chair and began the long wait.

It was only then that she looked down at herself and realized that her shirt was covered with blood and sand. She had to close her eyes, feeling dizzy and sick for a moment when she saw how much blood there was. Normally it didn't bother her that much – in her line of work you eventually got used to seeing. But it was a different matter when the blood belonged to someone you knew.

To distract herself from the blood, knowing that there was nothing she could do about it now anyway, Teresa looked at the doll, still clutched in her hand. She stared at it for a moment – seeing the dirty and rotting dress, the matted hair and the sand covered face. She also noticed that the doll too had Jane's blood all over it – and finally she saw the slit in the plastic of one of the doll's shoulders. She had to swallow as the doll made her think of what it must have been like for Jane when he found his wife and daughter. She couldn't help but remember the pictures – their bodies and the bed covered in their blood. For some reason the doll reminded her of that macabre picture.

As she held on to the doll she realized that it was no wonder Jane had had a nervous breakdown after their murders. What was surprising is that he managed to now deal with life as well as he did. She didn't know if she could have done the same.

To get her mind off of the blood and the picture in her mind, she lifted up the doll to examine it more closely. It looked as if someone or something had recently slashed the plastic just below the neck. At least she was pretty _sure_ it was recent, based on the dirt on the doll and the cleanliness of the cut. She wondered if it had happened at the same time as Jane's injuries.

The next think she did was turn the doll over and pull down the back of the once pretty pink dress. There was a tag with writing on it and she tugged at it and turned the doll over so she could read it.

My dollMindy

Charlotte Jane

She closed her eyes briefly. They'd been right – it was Charlotte's doll. She couldn't help but wonder why Jane had it – what it meant that he was carrying it. But he was going to be okay – and then she'd ask him.

He had to be okay. She would never forgive herself if he – if he didn't come back to her – to them. Even though he could sometimes be irritating, he'd become too important a person to lose.

She didn't know how long she sat there, the doll still clutched in her hands. Somehow it became a symbol to her – a talisman that would keep Jane alive. Charlotte, and Angela too, had to be watching out for him. She knew Jane didn't believe in an afterlife, but she did – and she'd believe for the both of them.

"How is he?"

Teresa looked up, startled. Standing in front of her was her team. All of them looked tired – and both Rigsby and Cho had sand on their shoes and dust covered their suits. Grace looked fine – although her forehead was crinkled with worry.

"Oh – hi," she said, blinking herself awake. She hadn't realized she'd been half dozing – or maybe it was shock. She looked at her watch, and then had to look again. "What time is it?" she asked.

"It's almost 9:30," Grace told her. "How's Jane."

"Uh – I don't know," she admitted. "They took him to surgery -" she looked again at her watch – "almost four hours ago. I don't know why I haven't heard anything." She looked over to the emergency desk but knew it was hopeless to ask. She'd already tried numerous times.

"What happened?" she asked her team, who were now sitting with her in the waiting room.

"Ed Bigelow was a petty thief," Cho answered. "He's been arrested a couple of times before, but never did any jail time. According to Charles Matthews – the one who ran – Ed was the leader of the little merry band. He's the one who tried to kill Jane."

"Is he dead?" Teresa asked, barely remembering her time on the beach.

"Yes," Cho answered. "I'm off until they determine the details of the shooting."

"What? Well I'll tell them. I saw him try and kill Jane. You had to shoot."

"I know. But they have to be sure."

Teresa nodded. "Yeah, but it'll be okay Kimball. There wasn't anything else you could do and you saved Jane's life. And what about the other two? You did say there were three of them?"

"We found Zachary Davis in a cave about 500 feet from where you found Jane," Rigsby answered. "He's the one we think stabbed him. We found him with a bloody knife. Forensics has it and they're examining it. We think, though, that Jane took him out – looks like he conked him on the head pretty hard. Davis has been taken to hospital with a serious head wound. They don't know whether he's going to make it or not."

" _Jane_ took him out? Really?" Teresa looked from one teammate to another, but each of them nodded. "Well, that has to be a first! Jane got himself out of trouble!"

Grace giggled, and then immediately looked horrified. "I'm – I'm sorry. I don't mean to laugh but -"

"It's okay Grace," Teresa said softly. "You know Patrick – he'd much rather have us happy and joking around then being all solemn and serious."

"Oh God, I hope he's going to be okay," Grace said, tears in her eyes. "Why did they take him? Do we know?"

"Charles Matthews said that they were looking for a place to hide and found Jane up on a road overlooking the ocean. They found out he had a place in Malibu and decided to hide out in his place. I guess he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Uh – do we know why he was there? It's a long way from Sacramento," Rigsby said, looking between Cho and Lisbon.

Teresa put her head in her hands. "I got mad at him. I guess he came here to – get away."

"Hey, it's okay boss," Grace put her hand on Teresa's shoulder. "It wasn't your fault. Like Wayne said, he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"Yeah, but why Jane? Hasn't he suffered enough?" Teresa cried. "And if I hadn't gotten mad at him he would never have come to Malibu!"

"No, and they might have kidnapped someone else – someone who didn't have friends who were CBI agents and who came and saved him. Jane didn't deserve this, but as soon as you thought he might be in trouble you ran to his rescue," Cho reminded her. "Would you have done that for anyone else?"

Teresa wasn't ready to be absolved from what she saw as her betrayal of Jane, and knew she wouldn't be until – and if – Jane got better. For right now all she could do was feel like this was all her fault.

"Is there someone here for Patrick Jane?" a tired voice called out. Teresa looked up to see a man walk towards them in scrubs, his hands rubbing his tired face.

"Yes, we are," Teresa answered, standing quickly. "Are you the surgeon?"

"Yes, I'm Dr. Williams," he nodded and looked at four of the people in the waiting room. "May I sit down? I've been on my feel for quite a few hours."

"Of course." Teresa watched impatiently as everyone seated themselves. "So, how is he?" she finally asked.

The doctor took a deep breath and let it out. "He's alive," he said bluntly, "and for now is doing as well as can be expected."

"What does that mean?" Grace asked sharply. Wayne gave her an admonishing look, which caused her to frown and to snap. "Well, that's doctor speak. We want to know how he really is."

Dr. Williams smiled. "You're right – we do tend to do that. Okay – so you want it straight, here it is. Mr. Jane lost a substantial amount of blood from the two cuts, although we're dealing with that and he should be fine. The cuts themselves were deep and caused extensive tissue and muscle damage. That's why we were in surgery so long. We brought in a specialist to repair the torn muscles and tendons – especially in his arm. He should eventually be fine, although he'll require extensive physical therapy."

"He's going to love that," Rigsby muttered.

"Along with the cuts he suffered three broken ribs. Fortunately they remained pretty stable except for one – which ended up piercing his lung." The doctor held up his hand at the reaction of Jane's colleagues. "Fortunately it wasn't too bad – it could have been much worse. As it was I went in and repaired the tissue and it should be fine barring complications or him pushing himself too soon."

"Great," muttered Grace. "And who's going to make sure he doesn't do _that_?"

"What else aren't you telling us Doc, Teresa asked finally. "What's wrong with him."

Dr. Williams pinched the bridge of his nose and took another breath. "He had a severe head injury, which cracked his skull in the back, here." He showed everyone the spot on his own head. "The result of that was a subdural Haematoma – or bleeding between the skull and the brain. The good news is it wasn't a major bleed. The bad news is it went untreated for many hours."

"What does that mean?" Rigsby asked, realizing that it sounded serious.

"The bleeding put pressure on Mr. Jane's brain – which can cause long term damage or even death. Fortunately we managed to get to him in time to prevent his death and to immediately reduce the pressure on his brain."

"How did you do that?" Wayne wanted to know.

The doctor turned to him. "Unfortunately, we do it the same way it's been done for centuries. We drill three small holes into the skull. That releases the pressure and allows us to drain the excess blood."

"And he's going to be okay now?" Teresa asked, her eyes not leaving the doctor's face.

"We hope so," the doctor said gently. "It's impossible to say with a head injury. He could come out of this with nothing more than a headache – or he could suffer long term or permanent effects."

"Such as," Cho asked bluntly.

"Again, it's impossible to say. The brain is a complex organ, and there's still a tremendous amount we don't know. We won't know with Mr. Jane until he comes out of the anesthesia completely – and maybe not even for a few days after that. He received severe injuries and lost a lot of blood. He's going to be groggy for a while – so until that wears off, we won't really know. All I can tell you is that it's a waiting game – and we'll hope for the best."

"Can we see him?" Teresa wanted to know. Her hands were clenched tightly around the doll and she was paper white. Her teammates looked at her worriedly.

Dr. Williams gave her a crooked smile, but nodded. "In a few minutes. They're going to be getting him settled in ICU. I'll have one of the nurses come and tell you when you can see him. But I'm afraid only one person can go at a time and you'll have to leave if the nurses ask you to. They're going to be monitoring him closely."

"I understand," she answered. "Uh – I'll go first," she looked at her team, but they all nodded.

"Boss, let me take that," Grace nodded at the doll. "I'll look after it."

Teresa looked down at the doll in surprise. She'd forgotten she had it. After staring at it for a few seconds she finally held it out to Grace. She didn't really want to let it go, but knew she couldn't take something so filthy into the ICE. "It's Jane's," she said, unnecessarily.

"I know," Grace said softly. "I'll look after it, don't worry."

Teresa nodded and let the doll go. A few minutes later a nurse came to take her to Patrick's room.

"Uh – I'm sorry, -" she said, looking back at her team.

"Just go Teresa," Cho told her kindly. "We'll be here if you need us. Say hi to Jane for us."

"I will," she laughed softly, her voice breaking with fear and anguish. She turned and followed the nurse.

Her first sight of Jane shocked her, and she almost turned and ran from the room. The sheet covered him to his waist and above that his chest was wrapped in bandages – the white contrasting with the bruises which she could see below and above them. She knew that the bandages also covered the long gash in his chest as well as supporting his broken ribs. She winced in sympathy.

His arm was also well bandaged and it rested on a pillow by his side, an pulse/Ox monitor on his finger.

The hardest thing to look at, however, was the bandage that circled his head. His blond curls – the ones she could see sticking out – were damp and limp looking – almost as if his usually irrepressible spirit had fled, not just his body, but from his hair as well.

"Oh Jane," she sighed when looking at him. "How did you manage to get into all this trouble? I'm afraid I'm going to have to watch out for you from now on."

She watched him in silence for a few more minutes, only going so far as to hold his hand in hers. She hoped he knew that she was with him, that he wasn't alone.

"Patrick, I want you to listen to me," she told him in her best Lisbon voice. "You're getting better and soon you're going to want to go home. But don't be foolish. You were hurt really badly and you need time to heal. So take this time to heal, to recuperate, to get better. I'll be here for you and Cho, Rigsby and Grace are all here as well."

Lisbon took a deep breath. "We need you Patrick," she told him, squeezing his hand. "Come back to us – please."


	9. Awake

It had been three days since they'd found Jane and in that time he'd regained consciousness a few times, but hadn't yet responded to anyone. He'd simply opened his eyes, stared for a few seconds and then had fallen back asleep.

Teresa was terrified that the head injury had caused permanent damage, even though the doctors kept telling her it was too early to tell. They reminded her that he'd been badly hurt, had lost a lot of blood and had had major surgery. Although she heard what they said, she had a hard time believing them.

The others – Cho, Rigsby and Van Pelt – all tried to encourage her, but she could tell they were as worried as she was. Grace more often than not started to cry every time she saw Jane. Rigsby would try and say something positive but usually ended up saying exactly the wrong thing. And Cho – well Cho didn't say much of anything.

Teresa kept talking to Jane, telling him things she'd never say to him if he were conscious. She told him about her childhood – about her father and his drinking, how she felt when her mother died, her guilt over leaving home and leaving her brothers. She also talked about her work as a law enforcement officer and her struggle to get ahead as a woman in a male-dominated profession.

As each day went by, however, she grew more and more convinced that they'd lost the Jane they'd known and the thought terrified her. She couldn't lose him – he had become too important to her, to all of them.

"Hey boss," Grace interrupted her dark thoughts and Teresa looked up from beside Jane's bed, relieved to have someone to distract her.

"How's Jane?"

"The same," Teresa told her. She took a deep breath and smiled at her teammate and then quickly changed the subject. She didn't want to dwell on Jane's lack of progress. "How are things at the CBI?"

"Okay," Grace smiled but shrugged. "They're having the hearing about Cho tomorrow, but his union rep says there shouldn't be a problem. The disciplinary board has heard all the evidence and according to his lawyer isn't going to push for any action against him. The word is they believe the shooting was warranted."

"Thank heavens," Teresa said. "And how are you and Rigsby doing?"

"We're fine," Grace shrugged. "Just missing the team being together." She glanced over at the still unconscious consultant. "He's not doing any better," she finally asked?

"The nurse said his vital signs have improved and the brain scan looked good, although the doctor says it's still impossible to say if and when he'll come out of this. He said they won't really know anything until he regains consciousness completely.

"Poor Jane," Grace said, looking at the pale looking man in the bed. She stood silently for a few moments, biting her lip. Finally she took a deep breath and turned towards her boss. "Uh Lisbon, I did something," she grimaced, "and I hope – I hope it's okay." Grace looked down at a bag she was carrying, a worried look on her face.

Teresa regarded her curiously. "What did you do?"

"Well – you know that doll? The one Jane had on the beach."

"Yes, of course. By the way, what happened to it?" Teresa asked suddenly.

"Uh – you gave it to me, remember? Well, I took it home and was looking at it and it made me feel so awful for him." Grace fidgeted a moment and looked down at the unconscious consultant. "He seems to be so happy most of the time that sometimes it's easy to forget what happened to him, what he must still be going through. When you gave me that doll – and when I realized it belonged to his daughter I couldn't help but feel terrible."

"I know – I felt badly too," Teresa whispered softly

"And then I saw how dirty it was, and it had a cut in it – which Wayne thinks was from that Zachary guy who tried to kill Jane. And – I thought how awful if Jane has to see it like that." Grace paused. "I mean, it was his daughter's."

"I know," Teresa said gently. "What is it Grace?" She finally asked. "What did you do?"

Without answering, Van Pelt opened the bag and reached in and pulled out a doll. But this doll was wearing a pretty pink dress, her hair was neatly combed and you could no longer see the cut in the plastic as it was hidden by the collar of the dress.

"Is that the same doll?" Lisbon asked incredulously.

"Yes. I washed it up and then took it to my neighbor. She's a really good seamstress and she made a new dress to look like the old one. And then finally I took it to a toy maker, who replaced the hair. The old stuff was falling apart."

"Wow," Teresa reached out and took the doll and regarded it carefully. She had a sudden thought and quickly turned it over and checked for the label. And it was there – the label with the doll's and Charlotte's name was still there.

"I had my neighbor take the label out of the old dress and sew it on," Grace explained. "Do you think – is he going to be angry?" she asked. "I kept all the old things and I can replace this stuff if you think Jane will be upset."

Teresa sighed and looked down at the doll. She didn't _think_ Jane would be upset, although she didn't really know! But she couldn't tell Grace that.

"That was a nice thing you did Grace and I'm sure he'll appreciate it," she told her teammate. "I think we should wait until he's better to show it to him though," She said. She smiled at Grace and then put the doll back in the bag. "Why don't I put it in his nightstand," she said. She opened the small cupboard and put the bag inside. Jane didn't need anything that might upset him.

The two women sat there, talking quietly as Jane continued to sleep. Grace had to eventually say goodbye but Teresa indicated she'd stay. She had barely left the hospital in days, and for some reason felt she had to be there. She had this horrible feeling that if she left, they'd really lose him.

"Come on Jane," she told him quietly after Grace had left. She leaned forward and gently touched his cheek. "Come on, it's time to wake up." When he didn't move she sighed and covered his hand with hers. She then sat and watched him, praying hard that he would soon be better.

She was dozing in her chair, tired from the days of worrying so that, at first, when his hand moved, she thought it was simply part of her dream. When it happened a second time, however, she woke up and looked down at where her hand lay over his. She blinked when she saw his hand move. She then sat forward as it turned and slowly grasped hers. His grip was so weak as to be almost non-existant – but he _was_ trying to hold her hand. She smiled.

"Jane?" she said, pressing his hand to let him know she was there. "It's me, Teresa. Can you hear me?"

There was another small movement of his hand. "That's it! You can hear me, can't you?"

The hand stopped moving and she worried that that was the end of any kind of awareness from him, but a few seconds later his eyes slowly opened.

Like every time before she expected him to stare at the ceiling however this time she was in for a surprise as he eyes slowly turned towards her. He blinked a couple of times, but his gaze stayed steadily on her.

His mouth opened, but no sound came out. Teresa again squeezed his hand and then smiled fully at him. "That's it Jane! You're here and you're safe. Can you hear me?"

His eyes began to lose focus and she feared that things hadn't changed – that he was simply responding to stimuli, but wasn't really coherent. She wanted to cry and she closed her eyes, not sure whether she could take this anymore.

His hand moved again and her eyes, once more, opened. "Jane? What is it?"

His mouth opened again, and this time she leaned forward, so her ear was close to his mouth.

"Lisbon," he whispered, so silently she almost didn't hear it.

"Yes," she said, sucking in a deep breath. She smiled and squeezed his hand. "It's me. You spoke Jane – that's great."

"Where -" he said, his voice no more than a breath of sound.

"Where? Where are you? You're in hospital, but you're going to be okay. You just need to take it easy for a while and then you'll be back helping us solve cases." She noticed that his eyes were beginning to droop, and only then remembered to buzz for the nurse.

Sure that he was almost asleep again, she was surprised when his eyes opened and he looked at her once more. His lips moved and she bent back down to hear him. "What is it Jane?" she said softly.

"Don't – like -"

"You don't like?" she asked, puzzled. Then her brow cleared and she grinned. "You don't like hospitals?"

He nodded. "Go – home?"

She laughed and reached up and gently moved a curl off of his forehead. "As soon as you're feeling better you can go home Jane, I promise. For now why don't you just sleep and let us look after you."

His eyes grew heavy but he continued to look at her. Finally he gave a tiny nod and let his eyes drift shut. She was sure, though, that his lips were curling up slightly in a smile.

Jane was back.

Of course he didn't just wake up after that and start talking. For the next few days he'd wake up for a few minutes at a time. He usually said one or two words, and then would go back to sleep. The doctor said this was normal, as his body healed, but that he was doing quite well. He seemed to be able to understand when people spoke to him, and the few words he said always seemed to make sense.

Teresa knew he was really coming back the day she walked into the room and Jane was awake, and frowning at the nurse.

"Good morning," she said cheerfully. Jane glanced at her but then looked back at the nurse, a scowl carved deeply into his brow.

"What's going on?" Teresa asked curiously.

The nurse looked at her and sighed. "Mr. Jane is asking for tea. I told him he can't have any yet. His system isn't quite up to it and the doctor doesn't want him to have caffeine at this time."

Jane was now peering at her with a look she knew well. He opened his mouth and before he had a chance to say something cutting, she interrupted. "Could he have an herbal tea – something mild?"

This time the nurse frowned. "I guess – although we don't have anything like that here. It can't have caffeine in it."

"Jane, would you like me to get you some nice herbal tea? I could put a bit of honey in it."

He stared at her, letting her know he knew _exactly_ what she was doing – but the desire for tea – even if it was herbal – must have won out, because he nodded. As the nurse left the room he gave the nurse one last glare.

"Be good," Teresa told him. "The staff are just looking after you and making sure you get better."

"Damned – quacks!" he hissed.

" _Jane_! Stop that. Those "quack's" saved your life and they're just doing their job. And you don't want to make them mad or else they'll make _your_ life miserable!"

"Not – if you – take me – home," he ground out. He was speaking more clearly now, although it was still difficult for him. The doctor said he'd improve over time, that he was still recuperating from all his injuries.

"You're not ready to go anywhere yet!" she told him directly. "You almost _died_ , so just relax and get better – and be _nice_!"

"Hmmpf," he puffed, although a second later he gave her a sweet smile. "Hi Lisbon," he said quietly.

"Hi Jane," she smiled at him and patted his hand. "It's nice to see you awake. How are you feeling?"

He shrugged. "Okay – sore. And no tea!" he complained.

"I'll go and get you some in a little while – unless you want me to go now?"

He shook his head and gestured for her to come nearer. She did and reached down and took his hand. "I really am happy you're getting better. You had us worried."

"Hard – head," he told her with a grin. He clutched onto her hand tightly and didn't let go. She wondered if he even realized what he was doing.

She grinned back at with, although she was still worried about him. He had lost weight and was terribly pale. There was also a bruised look around his eyes – something that she was pretty sure was more emotional than physical. What he had gone through would affect anyone – but in his case it must have brought up memories he didn't need.

Charlie Matthews – the criminal who had been captured by Cho – had given them a full statement. In it he told all about what they'd done to Jane – although he claimed he hadn't participated. He even claimed to have tried to help.

So Teresa knew pretty much everything that had happened to him after he'd been kidnapped. What she didn't know what how he got away, and what had happened in afterward.

She then thought back to the doll and him repeatedly asking for his daughter. That memory still haunted her.

"What – happened?" Jane's voice broke into her thoughts and she returned her attention to him. He was looking much more alert today, for which she thanked God.

"You mean – what happened to put you in the hospital?"

He nodded, although this time he grimaced slightly. His head must still be hurting.

"Do you remember any of it?" she asked gently.

He seemed to think for a few seconds and then turned back to her. "Remember – car – being kidnapped?"

"Yes, that's right. For some reason you were just north of Point Mugu, on a deserted lookout when the three bank robbers found you."

"Bank robbers?" he said with a frown.

"Yeah, didn't you know? They'd just robbed a bank in Calabasas and shot and killed the guard there. According to Matthews – he was one of the robbers – they were looking for a place to hide out for a few days when they came across you."

He was frowing slightly, but then he nodded. "I – think – I remember. Charlie, Ed and – and there was another one."

"Zachary Davis."

"Zack," Jane closed his eyes. "Not – a nice – guy," he stumbled over the words, but got them out. "Tried – to – kill me?"

"Zack? Yes, we think so. He had a knife and it was covered in your blood. He'd slashed your chest and arm, but fortunately -" Teresa's voice faded as she wondered if he was recovered enough to hear this.

"What?" Jane was nothing if not sharp, even when recuperating from a head wound.

"Fortunately you defended yourself," Teresa told him. She couldn't help keep the pride out of her voice.

"I – did?" he asked, surprised. "How?"

"You knocked him out with a rock," she told him, watching him carefully.

Jane had to think hard – and go back in time – to remember hitting anyone with a rock. A second later his brow cleared. "Orange!" he said triumphantly.

"Uh – orange?" She wondered if Jane had actually had some permanent damage!

"My rock – size of an – orange. Didn't know if – I could – do anything with it."

"Well you did," Teresa told him, with a strange look.

"He – okay?"

Teresa let out a slow breath. "He's alive," she told him, stopping there.

He observed her carefully, clearly seeing something in her expression. "And?" he asked.

"And what?" her eyebrows went up and she tried to look innocent. But Jane, even a wounded, still ill Jane, could read her.

"And what – aren't you – telling me?"

She sighed. "Nothing really. He _is_ alive, but he's – uh – in a coma. I guess you hit him pretty hard."

Jane frowned. "Don't – remember," he said, closing his eyes. "What are – his chances?"

"They don't know. Jane, don't worry about it. He tried to kill you and you defended yourself. If you hadn't _you'd_ be dead. He's not a nice guy. In fact, he was the one who killed the guard."

Jane nodded slightly, and then grimaced.

"Your head still hurt?" she asked sympathetically.

"Mmm," he replied. "What about – the others?"

"Well, Cho captured Charles Matthews and he's given us all the details. The guy in charge was Edward Bigelow –"

"Ed," Jane interrupted. "Another – mean guy."

"Yes, he was," she answered.

"Was?" he asked, catching the past tense. "What – happened to – him?"

"He's dead," she said gently. "He was going to kill you and Cho shot him."

There was a pause while Jane lay there quietly, his eyes closed. After a couple of minutes he opened them and looked at Lisbon. "Tell Cho – thanks."

She smiled and patted his hand. "Sure, although he's coming to see you later."

"He didn't get – in trouble?"

"No. They had a hearing but it was deemed justifiable. He's back on duty." Teresa was looking closely at Jane and realized that he was looking paler than ever. "You're tired Jane – you need to sleep. I'm going to go and get you some tea but it'll take me a while, so you just rest, okay?"

"Kay," he nodded, his eyes almost shut. She was almost out the door when she heard his soft "thank you – Teresa."

"You're welcome Jane," she said gently. She watched him for a moment, until he was sound asleep. With a much lighter heart than she'd had in days, she smiled and left to find him some tea.


	10. Charlotte

Patrick was bored. And a bored Patrick Jane was a dangerous thing. He knew he could be a bastard when he got to this state – but it was that or lie there remembering and _that_ was much too painful.

He looked around the room, wishing for company or even a book – something to keep his mind occupied. Instead he was here, all alone, with nothing to look forward to except another disgusting hospital meal.

He knew that it was actually a _good_ thing he was bored. It meant he was getting better. Oh, he still got the odd headache, and his ribs and side hurt like the devil, but at least now he could stay awake for a reasonable length of time, and his mind was no longer foggy and confused.

The doctors (quacks!) wanted him to stay a few more days. Personally he thought it was stupid – he could recuperate much better at home. But Teresa told him he had no choice and refused to bring him any clothes. And he had to admit that he wasn't really up to making the escape by himself anyway. Even getting out of bed and walking three feet to the chair exhausted him.

The main problem, as far as he was concerned, was his ribs. They made moving almost impossible. The knife wounds didn't help either, although it was easier to be careful with them. No, he was stuck here for the next few days, but that didn't mean he had to take it gracefully. Nope! He would make the medical staff as miserable as he was. That would show them!

Of course it would also mean a lecture from Teresa! He grinned just thinking about it. He enjoyed seeing Teresa get irritated with him. There was something terribly cute about a ticked of Teresa Lisbon. He refused to analyze why her irritation pleased him – refusing to acknowledge it showed that she cared.

He just had to know just how far he could go with her. He loved driving her crazy – but hated when she was truly angry at him. So he had to play it very carefully. Just thinking about that took away some of the boredom.

A few minutes later, however, it returned. He sighed and looked around the room _again_. There had to be _something_ for him to do.

At just that moment he glanced down and noticed the cupboard in his night table. He wondered briefly what was in there. "Probably a bed pan," he murmured. He thought for a few seconds and then grinned again. He could probably think of a funny magic trick using a bedpan. He didn't have a rabbit, but there had to be something he could make appear.

Now he just had to get the damn thing. With a "feeling sorry for himself" groan, he managed to put his feet over the side of the bed. He had to hang on tightly to his ribs and it took a while before he felt up to moving the next few inches. Eventually he was standing beside his bed, his side throbbing and burning. He just had to lean over a little bit – _there_ – and open the cupboard.

Sigh! There was no bedpan. So much for that idea. But there was something – a paper bag. He reached out for it – slowly, carefully. He grimaced when his stitches pulled, but managed to snag the paper bag and lift it out of the cupboard.

It took longer than he'd thought to get back into bed, and he had to spend a few minutes allowing the pain to subside. Damn criminals! He really didn't like getting hurt. He and physical pain didn't do well together.

Curiosity finally made him move and open the paper bag. He was pretty sure that Lisbon must have left something for him. Maybe it was his clothes? Excited at the possibility of making his escape wearing actual pants, it took him a moment to identify what he was seeing.

A doll? What in the world? He lifted it out of the bag, and stared at it, not quite sure what it was for.

It hit him after a few seconds. _Charlotte's doll_! What the hell was it doing here? Who would have played such a macabre joke as to leave it with him?

He dropped it onto his lap, and continued to stare at it. His face had drained of color, and his hands were shaking – but still he stared at the doll.

He'd wondered what had happened to it. Charlotte always carried it with her and he'd gone crazy trying to find it after she was dead. In the end he'd wondered if Red John had carried it away as a souvenir.

That thought made him freeze. What if Red John had taken it –

"Jane?"

His head slowly lifted until he saw Lisbon standing in the doorway, a concerned look on her face.

"Are you okay?" she asked, taking a sudden step forward. "What is it? What's wrong?"

At her question his head bent and he regarded the doll, which still sat on his lap. He opened his mouth to speak, but wasn't sure what to say. _Could_ it have been Red John?

"Oh Jane, I'm sorry," Teresa interrupted his thoughts. When he looked back up she was standing right by his bed. "I didn't mean for you to see that – not until you were feeling better."

He swallowed. "Where - ?"

"Where did it come from? Don't you remember?"

He slowly shook his head.

"We found you with it on the beach. You were holding onto it."

His brows crinkled in a frown. " _I_ had it?"

"Yes. We don't know where it came from. We thought that maybe you had grabbed it from the house and carried it with you to the beach."

Jane continued to frown, trying desperately to remember how he had come across the doll. Something flashed into his mind – the ocean – Charlotte playing with him in a dark hole? No – a cave – their _cave._ He closed his eyes, the memories making him feel weak.

"It was in the cave," he whispered.

Teresa reached out and put her hand over his. He grasped it and squeezed, needing something to tether him to the now, before he drowned in the memories. "Why was it in the cave?" she asked carefully.

"It – it was our secret place," he told her, breathing quickly. He then looked down at the doll and frowned. "But this – this can't be it. It looks – it's different."

She grimaced slightly. "When the ambulance came for you, I gave the doll to Grace to look after. We realized that – uh that it was your daughter's. She felt badly that it had gotten dirty and she had it cleaned up." She watched him closely, but all he did was stare down at the doll. She quickly continued. "She kept all the original things – and she said she'll change it back if you want. Don't be mad at her Jane," she finally said, worried at his continued silence. "She did it because she thought it would make you feel better."

At that he finally lifted his head. "I'm not mad," he told her. "I just – I couldn't find her," he gently lifted the doll. "I looked everywhere. All I could think was that Charlotte would cry without her doll. I didn't – I didn't want to bury her without it."

"Oh God Jane," Teresa whispered, lifting his hand to her face. "I'm so sorry."

After a few seconds he pulled his hand away from hers and carefully moved so that he was lying down. He still held the doll in one hand, and when he lay down he brought it up so that it was beside him. His eyes were closed, but he wasn't asleep – the frown between his brows giving evidence to the fact that he was still fully aware.

"I miss her so much," he whispered, his voice so low that Teresa almost didn't hear him.

She reached out and gently put her hand on Jane's shoulder. This time his hand reached up and covered hers. They stayed like that for a long time until finally she saw him begin to fade. Eventually he was asleep, and his hand fell from hers.

She continued to watch over him, until she too grew tired. With a sigh she tucked him under the blankets, making sure not to move the doll. She headed towards the door.

"May God watch over you Patrick," she said softly. She then turned and left – the need for sleep overtaking her desire to stay and watch over her friend.

Poor Jane –poor, poor Jane. She shook her head and left him all alone, with only Charlotte's doll to keep him company.


	11. Escape

"Hi Jane – _Jane?"_ Teresa looked around the hospital room, almost as if she expected him to suddenly pop out from behind the bed. But a quick perusal of the room showed that he wasn't there. In fact, based on the fact that the bed was devoid of sheets and the table was clear, she was pretty sure he hadn't just wandered down the hallway. Patrick Jane had left the hospital.

" _Jane!"_ she said again, this time with frustration, anger and some anxiety. Where the hell had he gone?

Teresa stomped out of the room and down the hallway to the nurse's station. One lone RN was sitting there, writing notes.

"Excuse me? Can you tell me where Patrick Jane is?" Teresa asked, not waiting to get the nurse's attention. "He isn't in his room."

"I'm sorry?" the nurse asked, lifting her head from the papers in front of her. "Who are you looking for?"

"Patrick Jane?" She could tell from the expression on the woman's face, that the news wasn't good. She sighed and waited to hear what she had to say.

The nurse frowned. "He checked himself out a while ago – against the doctor's advice."

"Of course he did!" groaned Lisbon, shaking her head. "How long ago?"

The woman glanced at her watch. "About 45 minutes. If you're a friend or relative, I suggest you find out where he's gone and go check on him. He really isn't well enough to be out of the hospital. At the least he should have someone stay with him."

"Oh, I'll check on him alright!" Teresa fumed. "Thank you." She turned to leave when the nurse stopped her.

"Uh – ma'am, can I ask a question?"

Teresa turned back with a slight frown. "Yes, of course."

"Well, some of the other nurses said that – well, that Mr. Jane's family was killed by the serial killer Red John. Is that true?"

Teresa sighed. "Yes, I'm afraid it is."

"Oh – that's so sad! I saw him with the doll and – I wondered about it. Then I heard Susanna – she's one of the other nurses – talk about his little girl. I feel so badly for him."

At the nurse's words Teresa's anger suddenly left her. She knew how much Jane hated hospitals – and right now he was also dealing with the trauma of what had happened to him, as well as the memories of his family. She had to cut him some slack.

And she would – after she killed him!

She sat in her car for a few minutes, trying to figure out where Jane could have gone. She doubted he would go all the way back to Sacramento. It was a long drive and he didn't have his car. He could have taken a bus, but that too didn't seem plausible, considering his condition.

The only other option – other than a hotel – was his Malibu house. But surely he wouldn't go back there. For one thing, it was now a crime scene and might still be closed off by the police. There was also no furniture there – except for that one mattress. And finally – she couldn't imagine him wanting to go back after having been so recently hurt and traumatized there.

She sighed and started her car and turned it towards Malibu. Knowing Jane, all the reasons she outlined to herself would make no difference.

It didn't take her long to get to his house. It was the middle of the day, and the traffic wasn't yet too bad. She pulled up in the front driveway and simply looked. It was a beautiful house – and she could only imagine what his life had been like before Red John. She could imagine him coming home to a beautiful wife who loved him and a daughter who was the center of his life.

It was such a tragedy – one she very rarely allowed herself to think about. She had long ago decided that the only way to work with Jane was to be tough – allowing her pity to show wouldn't help any of them, least of all Jane. But any time she was confronted with what happened to him, it was hard. She wanted to put her arms around him and hold him.

She turned off her engine and slowly got out of the car. Looking around, there was little evidence that anyone had been here, other than the trailing police tape on the front door. It had been ripped apart, and now floated in the breeze. Yes, Jane had to be here.

The door was unlocked, so she opened it, not bothering to knock. When she stepped inside she couldn't help but grimace. It was obvious the police had been here, and they had left it a mess.

There was more police tape and dust from taking fingerprints. There were also smears of blood on the walls and floors. Poor Jane – now he had this to deal with as well.

"Jane," she called out, wanting to alert him to her presence. "Jane, where are you?"

There was no answer, but of course she knew where he had to be. With a slow breath out, she turned and climbed the stairs to the second floor, wondering at each step how Jane was able to walk up these same stairs each time, without remembering and going mad.

"Jane, are you here?" The door to the bedroom was ajar and she carefully pushed it open. It was no surprise to see him lying on the mattress, his eyes closed, his chest moving with each breath. But his chest was moving too quickly and a deep furrow split his brow. Jane was not asleep.

She only half-noticed that he still had the doll with him. He was no longer holding it, but it rested beside him on the bed.

Teresa slowly approached him, refusing to look up at the macabre face. Instead she knelt down beside him. "Hey, are you okay?" she asked softly.

"Lisbon?" Jane's eyes opened blearily and he blinked as if only half awake. He clearly hadn't noticed her coming in. She grimaced upon hearing his voice. It was rough and weak sounding.

"Jane, are you alright?" she asked, deep gouges of worry in her forehead. She reached out and tried to put her hand on his forehead, but he jerked his head away.

"What?" he asked, licking his lips, and then swallowed. He blinked a couple of more times and then slowly looked around the room – a moment later his expression changed and he looked at her in puzzlement. "What am I doing here?"

Lisbon grew even more concerned. "Jane, you checked yourself out of the hospital and came here."

"I did?" he asked in confusion.

"Yes – do you remember how you got here?"

He blinked a few more times and then looked directly at her. "Uh – a cab I think."

"Are you okay?" she asked again, reaching out and this time managing to feel his forehead. "Damn Jane, you have a fever. What the hell were you thinking, checking yourself out of the hospital?"

"There was nothing more they could do for me," he told her. "I'll heal just as fast at home."

"Right – with no furniture except a mattress on the floor, no bedding, no food – and that damn painting over your bed. You can't stay here. Come on, I'm taking you back."

"No," he said, sounding like a ten year old. "I'm not going. They're a bunch of quacks!"

"They are not. They're professional medical people and they saved your life. Now get off your butt and come on!"

"I'm doing just fine here," he said petulantly. "You don't need to stay if you don't want to."

"Jane," she said, sighing patiently. "You can't stay here by yourself. What about food?"

"I can order it," he shrugged.

"Right! And you're going to go downstairs and get it, and then come back up? And what about utensils and things?"

"They bring plastic ones," he defended himself.

Teresa rolled her eyes. "Patrick, you _can't_ stay here. If I have to I'll get Rigsby to come and carry you out of here!"

"You wouldn't!" he exclaimed softly.

"Wanna make a bet? Look, you need to be somewhere where there are people to look after you – to bring you food and drink, make sure you take your medicine, bathe, etc. You can't do that here!"

"I'm not going back to the hospital," Jane said obstinately.

She sighed. She knew when she was defeated. "Okay, but you can't stay here."

"There's nowhere else," he answered. And while he didn't say that to garner pity, she couldn't help but feel that it _was_ sad. Jane no longer had a real home and no family.

"Yes there is," she answered, sounding firm. "We're going to stay in a hotel tonight and then tomorrow, if you're up to it, we'll head back to Sacramento. You can stay with me."

"You don't -"

"I'm not asking you Jane," she interrupted. "Come on – let's go."

He peered up at her – looking sick and tired and weak – but there was a bit of his usual twinkle. "I like it when you take control Lisbon," he told her.

She sighed and shook her head and put out her hand. "Come on – get up!"

It took longer than he would have thought just to stand up. Everything hurt – his ribs especially protested the movement – and he felt weak and dizzy. He glanced at Lisbon, who was looking a combination of irritated and worried. That made him grin – he could always depend on Lisbon looking out for him – and being irritated while she did it.

"You okay?" she asked. This time the concern won out.

"I'm fine," he said, although even he could tell his voice didn't sound at all convincing.

"Right! Come on, let's get out of here." She stood beside him, on his good side, and threaded her arm around his side. She began to move forward, but he stopped, forcing her to halt as well. "What is it?" she asked impatiently.

He looked towards the bed, where the doll still sat.

"Did you want to bring it?" she asked gently. He glanced at her, and then back at the doll.

"No," he said finally. "But I don't want to leave it there. Can you get it?"

"Sure." She carefully let go of him, watching to make sure he wouldn't keel over, and retrieved the doll. "Where do you want it?"

He thought for a moment and then nodded out to the hallway. "There's a linen closet in the hall. Can you put it there?"

"Sure, just hold on." She looked at him again. "You're not going to fall down, are you?"

He gave her a wan smile. "No, but don't leave me too long."

"I'll be right back!" She practically flew to the hallway and was back almost before he could blink.

"That was fast."

"Yeah – we need to get you to bed. Come on!"

So Jane leaned on her – something he'd been doing for a long time now, although he hadn't realized it until this moment. He felt a sudden wave of tenderness for this tiny, fierce woman.

"Thank you," he said as she guided him down the stairs. She looked at him in surprise.

"What for?"

He smiled. "For being my savior," he said.

She snorted. "Right! Although I'd really appreciate it if you didn't get into situations where you had to _be_ saved."

"Okay," he nodded, although he wanted to tell her he wasn't really thanking her for saving him from Zack, Ed and Charlie – but rather saving her from himself. Without her he knew he wouldn't have made it to this point.

"You know that I didn't mean what I said," Teresa suddenly blurted. They'd just gotten to the bottom of the stairs and Jane stopped – almost making them both fall.

"What?" he said, confused.

"Before – in my office. I was just pissed Jane – I didn't really want you to go away. I'm sorry."

He had honestly forgotten what had started this whole thing. He glance down at her and felt a pang of remorse. He could tell Teresa was blaming herself for this whole thing.

"I know that," he said. "And you had every right to be upset but don't you _dare_ blame yourself for this. I just decided I wanted to go for a drive and it was just my bad luck that I came across our merry trio. You had nothing to do with it Lisbon."

"You're sure?" she asked, sounding doubtful. "Stan said you looked – upset."

"Stan?" he frowned.

"The guard at the CBI."

"Oh, _Stan_." He realized he'd barely noticed the night guard when he left, which wasn't typical of him at all. "I was just tired."

By this time they'd made it to Lisbon's car. It took a while to get in, as Jane had trouble bending and she had to help him. He let out a heartrending moan when he'd had to twist to get his legs in – the movement obviously excruciating. Finally, when they were both buckled in, Teresa turned and regarded him carefully.

"I _am_ sorry Jane. You're my friend and I shouldn't have been so awful to you."

Her sincerity made him feel guilty. He knew that she had to put up a lot from him, that he often made life difficult for her. With a soft sigh he tried to turn to her, although his ribs made it impossible. Instead he leaned back and closed his eyes. "Hey, it's okay. I knew you really didn't mean it and – well, I deserved it. _I'm_ sorry that I'm such a pain to work with."

"Jane! No. You're not. It's just – sometimes -" her voice faded out and she looked at him sheepishly.

He chuckled softly. "Don't worry Lisbon, I know." He finally turned his head and looked at her. "Let's just forget about it, okay? I was a jerk and you – got a little upset at me. But we're friends, right? And friends don't stay mad at each other."

She slowly smiled and nodded. "Of course we're friends." She then took a deep breath and started the car. "And as your friend," she said as she backed out of his driveway, "I'm going to look after you. And no arguing!"

He settled back and closed his eyes, a small smile on his face. The truth was, after what he'd just been through, he _wanted_ someone to look after him. The last thing he wanted or needed was to be by himself – or in the hospital – that was just as bad.

"Jane. _Jane_!"

He slowly blinked awake, feeling completely disoriented. He couldn't remember where he was, although he had a sudden feeling of panic. Zack – Ed – he'd been kidnapped –

"Jane!"

Wait – he knew that voice. "Lisbon?" he said softly, his voice rough from sleep.

"Yes, it's me. You fell asleep."

Jane opened his eyes fully and looked around. He was in a car and Teresa was sitting beside him, her face crinkled with worry. Why was she worried? Had something happened? He turned quickly so see if there was any danger – but he'd only moved a tiny bit when pain ripped up his side and he gasped. What the - !

"Take it easy!" Teresa laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Be careful Jane. You've got broken ribs."

"No – kidding," he gasped, still feeling dizzy and sick from moving too quickly. "What the hell happened?"

"You don't remember?"

He looked at her for a moment, until the fog lifted from his brain. "Oh – yeah," he muttered.

"Oh yeah! I'm going to go inside and get us a room. Are you okay here for a few minutes?"

"I'll be fine Lisbon," he said, still trying to deal with the pain. "Just – go."

She regarded him for a few more seconds, but realized that he'd be better in bed, and she'd better hurry. "I'll be right back. Do _not_ go anywhere."

"I won't. Don't worry," he promised. "In fact, I think I'll just sleep here." There was no way he wanted to get out of the car, not when he remembered how painful it was to get _in_.

Teresa left and things grew quiet. He dozed, not really caring where they were or what was going on. He _hurt_ and his mind kept wanting to go back to those terror filled moments at his house and then on the beach. But he didn't _want_ to remember those things. Instead he concentrated on the shards of pain which were helping to distract him.

He didn't know how long Lisbon had been gone – it could have been minutes or hours. All he knew was that he was tired and he wanted to sleep. By the time the car opened, he was more than halfway there.

"Come on Jane, I got us a room."

"Mmm," he groaned. "I'm good here."

"Come _on_!" she told him. "Here, I'll help." She reached down and undid his seat belt and then tried to help him out. "Cooperate!" she snapped.

With another groan – and a glare – he managed to bring his feet out, and then let Teresa help him to stand. The pain was getting worse, and he was unsure if he could make it all the way to his room. But Teresa helped and soon he was lying down on a comfortable, queen sized bed.

"Here." He opened his eyes to see Teresa holding something in her palm.

"What?" he frowned.

"Pain pills," she told him. "And here's a glass of water."

Normally he didn't like taking medication – he hated the fuzzy feeling he got from it. But this time he readily accepted them. He hurt and his head already felt funny. He swallowed them and hoped they'd kick in soon.

"Jane, can you sit up?"

He opened one bleary eye and glared at her. "Why would I want to do that? I just laid _down_!"

She sighed. "You're not going to be very comfortable in your suit. Come on – I'll help you undress."

He stared at her in surprise. The medicine, and his wounds, were making him feel very off-kilter. He blinked at her. "What?"

"I'm going to help you with your clothes."

"No," he shook his head. He was not about to have Teresa undress him! "I'm fine."

"Jane, come on. Don't be a baby! You're sick and you'll be much more comfortable out of your good clothes."

The next thing he knew, he was sitting on the side of the bed and Teresa was unbuttoning his shirt. He was so woozy he kept tipping over, and she had to continually grab him and balance him. She finally got his shirt off – carefully and slowly and grimaced when she saw the discoloration on his chest above and below the bandages wrapping his torso. He yelped and glared at her when she pulled off the sleeves– although then he started to giggle. He was feeling very, very loopy!

"Lie back," she told him. He grinned at her and flopped down – but then frowned when he realized that that hadn't been wise. Still the pain meds took the edge off.

He lay there, staring at the ceiling. He was a little chilly and couldn't figure out why. The next thing he knew, someone was undoing his belt and then started on the button on his pants!

"Hey!" he reached down and grabbed a hand. He lifted his head – it was difficult – and found Lisbon looking at him impatiently. "Jane, let go."

"Why are you – taking off my – pants Teresa?" he mumbled.

"Jane, I told you – I'm helping you undress for bed. Don't worry – this is _all_ I'm taking off. Now let go!"

He stared at her for a few more seconds and then grinned and let go of her hand. "Okay, you can undress me." He dropped his head back on the pillow. "I don't mind if _you_ undress me Lisbon. I like you."

"I like you too Jane," she said as she unzipped his pants. The next thing was to pull them off. "Can you lift your butt?"

"Huh?"

"Lift up so I can pull this off."

"What are you doing?"

She sighed and rubbed her eyes. She should have known that looking after a sick Jane would be interesting. "Just lift your butt and then I'm putting you to bed."

"Oh. Okay." He tried to help – really he did – but he was sore, and tired and feeling very fuzzy. In the end she did most of the work.

"Okay there! Now let's get you under the covers." She helped him move up a few inches and then she tucked him in with the blankets.

He frowned at her. "Aren't you coming in?" he asked. "I'm cold!"

"You'll warm up in a minute. Now just go to sleep. I'll be in the next bed if you need something."

"But I want you to sleep with me!" he told her, sounding like a whiny ten year old. "Please Teresa!"

She looked at him and shook her head. She wondered if he'd remember this in the morning. In all her wildest dreams – and she couldn't help but admit she'd had more than a few about Patrick Jane – she'd never imagined _this_ scenario. Part of her was disappointed that he was only offering because of the medication he was on.

"Fine," she sighed. "But I have to get ready for bed. You just rest and I'll be back in a minute. I'm going to the lobby to get something."

"Okay." His eyes closed and he appeared to doze. She watched him for a moment and then went to the door. She didn't have anything with her, and hoped she could buy a toothbrush – and maybe a tee-shirt for pajamas.

While in the lobby she also grabbed a few things to snack on. She hadn't eaten dinner and was getting hungry. She wondered about Patrick. Maybe she should have stopped and picked up dinner. Oh well – there was nothing she could do for now. If he was hungry he could have some nuts!

She let herself in quietly, sure that Jane would be asleep. She would clean herself up, put on I Love LA tee-shirt she'd purchased at the gift shop and climb into the other bed. Jane would never remember that he'd wanted her to sleep in the same bed with him.

She pulled back the covers and climbed in, suddenly exhausted from the last few days. She yawned and reached to turn out the lights.

"Lisbon?"

"Jane?"

"Where are you? I'm cold. I need you."

Damn! "I'm coming." She kicked off the covers and padded her way over to Jane's bed. She knew she would regret this, but right now there was no way she could refuse him. He sounded so lost, so scared – and she understood that after what he'd been through he needed some comfort. She just hoped she wouldn't regret this.

She climbed into bed – Jane's bed – and lay there silently – her body as far over to the edge as possible. She barely had time to relax, when she felt the mattress move, heard a grunt of pain and then felt Jane's arm move on top of her stomach. A moment later she could tell, from his deep and rhythmic breathing, that he was asleep.

Great! Now she was going to lie here, trapped by Jane's arm, all night. She knew there was no way she was going to sleep, lying in bed with him. Nope! No way.

Five minutes later she was sound asleep. Thirty minutes later she was cuddled up next to Jane.


	12. Pain and Suffering

He felt safe. He could feel her next to him – her body warm and soft. He loved waking up with his wife next to him. It made him realize how very lucky he was.

It didn't take very many seconds for reality to set in. Angela was dead, was gone. She couldn't be beside him. He felt a wave of grief rush over him, almost drowning him, and then the pain hit – the physical pain, not just the emotional. That was followed by fear – who was beside him? What had happened to him?

He tried to slow his breathing, to concentrate on calming down, to figure out what was happening. Slowly he began to remember. He'd been kidnapped and hurt. He'd been in the hospital but had checked himself out because he _hated_ those places. But then – and here things got a little fuzzy – and then Teresa had found him.

She had found him – but where was he? And why was there a warm, soft body next to him. His wife was gone and he hadn't been with any other woman since her. He surely hadn't gone out and picked someone up, had he?

He knew he could simply open his eyes and _look_ , but he found himself inexplicably nervous. And he also felt like crap. Everything was hurting and he didn't think he could deal with anything more than that.

But who was beside him?

"Mmm," a soft murmur sounded from the body beside him, a soft murmur that he recognized. The fear started to abate.

"Teresa!" he slurred, opening his eyes and turning his head. Yes, it was she – and she was curled up right beside him, one leg thrown over his and her arm around his waist. Her dark hair spilled out over her pillow and onto his shoulder. She looked like she was deeply asleep – asleep and content.

He blinked a couple of times to make sure his head injury hadn't caused him to hallucinate. He took a deep breath. No – she was definitely here. He could smell that unique scent that was hers. _And_ he could feel her body against his.

He allowed himself a brief moment to simply enjoy the feeling of having someone next to him again, to feel that sense of warmth and safety and caring. Sadly, it wasn't very long before his need to know what was going on forced him to turn his mind away from the woman lying next to him and to try and remember.

He sighed and lifted his left arm – the one not trapped by Lisbon – and rubbed his eyes. What was going on? Why was she in his bed – or why was he in hers? He looked around but didn't recognize the room. Where was he?

He slowly tried to pull away from her – not because he didn't like having her so near, but he needed to figure out what was going on. And then there was the fact that his bladder felt like it was about to burst.

The moment he moved Lisbon's arm tightened, effectively pinning him to the bed. He knew that he could get away, if he wanted to, but he was afraid he'd rip some stitches and he'd wake her up. So instead he lay there and tried to remember what had happened to put them in this position – and tried to ignore his bladder.

It took him a few seconds to realize that he was practically naked. The only thing he wore were a pair of boxers, which was very strange as he _never_ went to bed without pajamas. Surely he and Lisbon hadn't – God, his head ached. He couldn't think, couldn't remember. But maybe he didn't want to remember. If he and Lisbon _had_ – he didn't know how they were going to continue to work together.

A big part of him wanted to sneak away and hide and never, ever talk about this. The other side of him, the rational side, told him to face up to whatever they had done, if they _had_ done something or it would come back and haunt them at some future date. But no, they couldn't have done anything. He would remember that – and anyway, he _was_ wearing boxers.

And then he realized that the biggest part of him just wanted some strong pain pills. His head was throbbing and felt like it was going to explode. His side with the broken ribs was burning – the other side was sore – and the rest of him felt like he'd been put through a meat grinder. He groaned, feeling very, very sorry for himself.

The movement caused Lisbon to move – which caused him to hurt even more. A second later she had turned away from him, with a murmur and a sigh. Instead of helping make him feel better, her absence left him feeling – bereft. He wanted her back.

"Lisbon," he croaked after a few more minutes lying there in pain. "Lisbon, can you hear me?"

"Go away Jane," she mumbled, clearly still half asleep. "We don't need you right now. Rigsby caught the clown."

He frowned but then he reached over and gently shook his bed companion. "Lisbon, wake up! You're dreaming."

"No," she muttered. "It was Chuckles."

He couldn't help but grin, wondering what in the world she was dreaming about, but that lasted only a second. He was in pain, he needed to go to the bathroom and he didn't know what the hell was going on. "Lisbon," he said, prodding her in the side.

"What do you want Jane," she murmured, still mostly asleep. There was a pause and then she exclaimed – "Jane!" She rolled over quickly, knocking into him as she did so.

"Ow!" he gasped as her elbow hit him in the ribcage.

"Oh my God! Jane, are you alright?"

He breathed deeply for a few seconds and then finally nodded. "I was until you elbowed me!" It wasn't really true – but he was hurting and it was his habit to lash out at such times.

She frowned at him. "I'm sorry. Uh – you look like crap!"

He glared at her. Of _course_ he looked like crap. He was _injured._

"You should be in hospital Jane. I don't know what you were thinking!"

"I was thinking that I hated hospitals and doctors. Lisbon, can you stop for a moment with the "I told you so's" and help me?"

The look of worry on her face increased. "What is it? Do you need me to take you back to the hospital?"

"No, I need you to take me to the bathroom!"

Her look of surprise made him shake his head and rephrase what he needed. "I need some help getting out of bed. I need to _go_ Lisbon!"

"Oh," she exclaimed, her face clearing in understanding. "Of course."

The next few moments were taken up with her trying to get him to stand, and him groaning pathetically. He _really_ hurt.

"I'm not going to say it Jane, but – this is ridiculous!"

"You just _did_ say it," he pointed out as he limped towards the bathroom, Lisbon's arm the only thing keeping him from doing a face-plant.

"No, I said it was ridiculous. What I _didn't_ say was "I told you so."

He sighed and looked at her. "But we both know that's what you meant."

"Oh shut up Jane and go to the bathroom, and then you're going back to bed."

He sighed but limped forward into the bathroom and closed the door behind him. He had to stand there for a few seconds, recuperating from the trip. Suddenly the catheter he'd had in the hospital didn't seem so bad.

He finished his business as quickly as he could and, after washing his hands, made his way back to the door. Lisbon was waiting on the outside, her forehead crinkled with worry.

"Are you going to be okay?" she asked seriously as she gently put her arm around him.

"I'll be fine," he sighed, knowing that she was really worried about him. "I just need to lie down."

"Are you hungry?" she asked, after he was lying back on the bed. She carefully sat beside him and frowned again when she saw how pale he was.

"No, just tired." He opened his eyes and looked up at Lisbon's concerned face. "What time is it?"

"Uh," she grabbed her phone and turned it on. "It's 6:30."

"A.M?"

"Yes. Do you want to sleep some more?"

"Mmm hmm," he murmured, his eyes already closed although the pain was getting worse and he was pretty sure he wouldn't be able to sleep. He tried to take a deep breath, to relax, but instead he let out a short gasp. His ribs hurt too much for deep breaths.

"Jane! You need to go to the hospital."

"No – no," he gasped. "Just – could you – get me my – pain pills?"

"Damn it!" she said, getting up so quickly that he groaned from the movement. "I'm sorry Jane – what am I thinking? Here," she said, handing him two pills after she got him a glass of water.

He downed the painkillers and then groaned again as the pain stabbed through his side. Maybe the doctor and Teresa were both right and he wasn't ready to be out of the hospital.

He lay down after finishing the water, fighting nausea, dizziness and pain. For a moment he wondered if he was going to throw up and it took all his mental concentration to keep himself from losing what little was left in his stomach.

As he tried to lie quietly and not embarrass himself further by whimpering, he felt Lisbon take his hand and hold it tightly. He grasped it back desperately – needing something to keep him tethered, to keep him from letting the pain overwhelm him. He was _so_ thankful that Lisbon was with him. It was the only thing that made things bearable.

It took a few minutes but he started to feel better. The pills the doctor had given him must be strong, he thought briefly as the relief washed over him. He finally took a breath, and then another – relieved that the pain was receding. He still felt some, but now it was more of a background ache, rather than all-consuming agony.

He opened his eyes, to find Teresa once again peering down at him, a look of intense worry on her face.

"I'm okay," he said. "The medication helped."

"Damn it Jane, what the _hell_ were you thinking," she said sharply. "You're not well enough to be out of the hospital!"

"I'm sorry," he said softly, his hand squeezing hers lightly. "I just – I couldn't stay there anymore," he told her. "I just kept remembering -"

At that her expression changed – her brown clearing and her eyes looking at him in sympathy – still tinged with a bit of anger however. "What did you remember?"

"That – I was going to die," he said softly.

"Oh Jane!"

"And – I didn't want to," he said, almost sounding surprised. "For the first time – I didn't want to die Lisbon."

"Of course not," she told him gently. "You made it Jane – you managed to save yourself and you're going to be fine now."

"You were the one who saved me Teresa - you and Charlotte," he said, his voice fading as his eyes grew droopy.

"Charlotte?"

"Mmm," he said, almost asleep. "It was our cave," he said, so softly she could barely hear. "She was – there." A moment later he was asleep.

"Oh Jane," she said again, moving a lock of hair out of his eyes. She was so grateful that he _had_ survived, but felt terrible that once more he had to go through pain and suffering. She wondered about his daughter – wondered if he had somehow seen her or if it was just the doll.

Teresa smiled softly and looked up. "Somehow," she said, "I think it was you Charlotte. You were looking after your father, weren't you?" She knew that Jane, once he recovered, would refuse to believe his daughter had been present. He didn't believe in life after death – but she did, and she'd simply believe for him.

She was tired, so she didn't want to think about his other words – about wanting to live. His words implied that up until now he _hadn't_ wanted to live – something which disturbed her greatly, although it didn't surprise her. She was just grateful that he now _did_ want life. But what a helluva way to find out! Poor Jane.

Teresa stood and stretched, feeling tired and sore from all the worry and then the discovery of the criminals who had kidnapped Jane. She looked down at the sleeping man and decided she might as well get some more sleep too. She debated for only a few seconds before she shrugged and moved around to the other side of the bed. Jane hadn't said anything about her sleeping beside him – so she was going to do it again. Afterward they'd head to her apartment and she'd give him the guest bedroom.

She turned on her side and looked at the still too pale man sleeping beside her. She had an irresistible urge to wrap her arms around him, which caused her to roll her eyes at herself. Still, after a few minutes debate she decided it wouldn't hurt. Hell, the man needed _some_ comfort. Carefully, so as not to hurt him, she slid over to him and put her arm around him. She let out a deep breath of air and relaxed, enjoying the warmth and security that was the man beside her.

"Sleep well Jane," she whispered. "You're going to be fine."


End file.
